The Masks we Wear
by Gidgit2u
Summary: The war is over, and Hermione, along with most of the Slytherins have decided to finish their education rather than take the Ministry approved early entry into various careers. An intriguing class assignment challenges Hermione to look at Magic differently, and a Slytherin acquaintance and suspicious professor change her life in ways she'd never have imagined.
1. Chapter 1

**Chapter 1**

 **oOo-xXx-oOo**

Hermione turned and hugged Ron and Harry, the former a tad stiffly and the latter as tight as she possibly could. Her and Ron had decided a month after the battle that they were better off friends, that the handful of kisses and tentative explorations had felt forced and uncomfortable, and it was with relief on both their parts that things began to go back to how they were before the final battle and their public demonstrative declaration. As relieved as she was they were friends again, the awkwardness still hadn't fully dissipated, what with the fact he'd seen her topless and all… she hoped time and distance would help smooth the waters again, but for now, there were wrinkles in their friendship that hadn't yet been ironed out.

Ginny had already said her goodbyes and had boarded minutes earlier. Hermione didn't know quite what had happened between Harry and Ginny over the summer, but she'd noticed a veneer of ice coating the redhead's words and an unease to her posturing as she'd said her farewells, and Harry was looking… well, like Harry. Loveably obtuse, oblivious to the undercurrents of unrest and frustration being sent his way.

Hermione sighed, knowing she'd be hearing about whatever bee was in Ginny's bonnet soon enough. With all these threads of tension spanning between the quartet, she was glad Harry and Ron had opted not to return to Hogwarts to finalize their education, instead enrolling with the newest Auror recruits. She needed the chance to breathe, stretch her wings a bit without her two male best friends hovering or obtusely weighing in. And they needed the release and challenge being Auror recruits would give them, a healthy channel for their grief following the war.

She sought solace in books and higher learning, they through adventure and exertion.

The Wizarding world was fragmented following the war — the government was in shambles, and delineation of the winning and losing sides was neither black nor white but many shades of grey. Due to the casualty rate, not only were many ministry positions vacant and desperate to find applicants to fill them, but shops and merchants and other businesses were also suffering losses and critical staffing issues.

Due to the incomplete, prejudicial and tyrannically disrupted education the Hogwarts students received the year leading up to the great battle, and in the hope of restoring a semblance of order and stability, the temporary ministry cabinet had enacted a wartime amendment to educational requirements and career placements.

This amendment allowed for those of age or who had attended their seventh year of study previous the ability to challenge their NEWTS over the summer term and to be able to enter the work force early, eliminating the delay of another year of schooling if the appropriate marks required were achieved in the challenged exams.

Those that wanted to return to Hogwarts to finish their aborted seventh year, like Hermione, would be treated as adults, and a new, one-time only 'eighth year' was created for them, which would mirror the seventh year curriculum but allow them the continuity of learning amongst their peers of the previous seven years. As most were of age, they were also allowed privileges typical seven years weren't, such as no curfew and the ability to visit hogsmeade whenever they wished.

"Oi, Hermione, best get on the train, ya." Ron said, breaking her musing, "Don't have a flying car here in case you miss it," Hermione rolled her eyes.

"Yes Ronald, because apparition to hogsmeade would be so difficult if I were to infact miss the train," she snorted. The train gave a warning whistle and Ron smirked.

"Ok you two, try and stay out of trouble," she grinned ruefully as both boys smirked, "and write to me often. I want to hear how training is going."

"Will do our best," said Harry with a sardonic grin as she swatted his shoulder, and she knew 'often' would mean a letter every couple weeks if she was lucky. And probably only a couple lines if that.

She smiled before giving them one last quick hug — more just a shoulder touch — and boarded the train.

As she made her way down the train's corridor to find a compartment to spend the journey, she fingered the spot on her school robe that would have housed the head girl badge. She understood why Professor McGonagall had given it to someone else, and even though it was Ginny who now wore it — who more than deserved it — she was still disappointed.

"Ms Granger," Professor McGonagall had said when she'd dropped by The Burrow to have a chat with Mr. and Mrs. Weasley over the summer; assessing Hermione with a look of compassion when asked about the deference, "The head girl position is for those in their final seventh year. Unfortunately, though you yourself are finishing your education at Hogwarts, you are technically not in seventh year. If you had returned last year, and had things been… different… You'd have received the honor of the badge. However, as things stand, to overlook those who held positions of leadership last year during the tyranny that occurred would not be prudent nor, to put it tritely, fair."

She'd speared Hermione with a piercing gaze before saying softly, "I would think, Hermione, that if anyone has earned a year of leisure, and dare I say, frivolity, it is you. I have full confidence you will put forward the energy needed to excel in your subjects, however, I do believe not being shouldered with head duties will become something of a relief in time."

She'd then smiled a rare, kindly smile and it was that, along with the use of Hermione's first name that took the barb out of the sting of rejection. Hermione still felt a sense of loss that her dream of reaching the pinnacle of student leadership had eluded her but she reasoned the extra free time would be appreciated when exam prep season came around.

Ahead of her down the corridor, a head popped out of a compartment.

"Hi there, Hermione," Neville said, beaming at her. "Care to sit with Luna and I?"

"Definitely," she said, returning the smile, relieved that her friends seemed to be already on board and she didn't have the awkwardness of sitting alone waiting. It was strange to not have Ron and Harry with her… felt like a limb was missing; not a vital one, but important and noticeable nonetheless.

As she made her way toward Neville, she glanced into the compartment on her right. Startled at what she saw, she nevertheless kept her composure as she quickly and surreptitiously took stock of the compartments inhabitants.

Surprise was her first emotion at seeing who occupied the seats, followed quickly by rage, indignation, a touch of fear and then resignation. She knew she had an extensive amount of baggage from the war that she wore around her like an invisible talisman, but she hadn't realized the acute reactions she'd experience when physically confronted with a trigger. Even as innocently a presented trigger as a compartment full of returning Slytherins, most of whom she'd never even exchanged more than two words with in years prior.

Her glance into the compartment had been no more than seconds, but it was enough for her rich espresso hued orbs to meet and hold with ones of the iciest blue. Just a flicker, a meeting, a spark, and then she was moving swiftly, stoically, toward Neville and the warmth and comfort of time spent with friends.

oOo-xXx-oOo

"Luna, hurry up will you?" Called Ginny, as she and Hermione hopped into a carriage, settling their trunks in the provided carrier slots. Neville was lagging a bit behind, chatting with Dean and Seamus, and as Luna settled herself into the carriage, Hermione was pleased to see Padma slide in beside her.

"You came back!" Said Hermione, and smiled a little before realizing Pavarti wasn't with her twin, her smile dimming at the realization.

"Yeah, I had a hell of a time convincing my parents it was safe to return, they know the war is over, but there's still dissent out there. But I needed to see this through, and… this is home, you know?"

"I do," said Hermione softly.

' _Now more home than they'll ever realize_ ', she thought sadly.

"Pavarti decided to intern at St Mungos. She challenged her NEWTS over the summer and received the marks required, so she and Lavender have a flat close to there."

"How is Lavender?" Hermione asked quietly, guilt and curiosity warring within her.

Guilt over her previous petty behavior and anger towards the other girl over Ron, and curiosity because she hadn't heard how her old roommate was doing since being attacked and too ashamed to investigate herself.

"She's…"Padma paused. "She's strong, but also as vulnerable as spun glass. She's spent the whole summer healing and working through what that animal did to her, physically and psychologically. But she's… she's different. She's not the Lavender Pavarti and I grew up with."

"I wouldn't think she would be,"'said Luna softly, "You can't go through what we did, what she did, and be the same as you were before. It's naive and cruel to expect otherwise."

"Right," said Padma, nodding solemnly, "well, That's why Pavarti didn't come back. She wants to help Lavender as much as she can and so interning as a healer allows her that."

The girls fell into a weighted silence, broken only by the sound of thestral feet clomping along up the path to Hogwarts.

"Congratulations on making Head Girl," Padma said, nodding towards the badge pinned to Ginny's robes who returned the compliment with a smile. "Do you know who's Head Boy?"

"Not Zacharias Smith," snorted Ginny, "ruddy coward! It's a Slytherin I've never really spoke to before, Terrance Bulstrode."

"Millie's brother, he'll be ok to work with I think," said Luna, staring off toward the lake and twisting her radish earring around her finger absently.

"Millie?" Said Hermione, and exchanged a questioning glance with Ginny.

"Millicent, Slytherin, your year." Replied Luna, nodding toward Hermione and Padma.

"How…" began Hermione, but Luna cut her off.

"We both seem to attract the wrackspurts something fierce. I noticed them last year and told her about how to remove them from her person."

"Luna," Ginny said indignantly, "wasn't she the Slytherin who tortured you the most last year? I distinctly remember you and her having many a run in."

"Oh no," said Luna sweetly, "she only pretended to hurt me. I mean, she did, you can't escape that with the cruciatus curse after all, but she didn't mean it. So it wasn't as strong as it could have been. She'd always feel really bad afterwards, she abhorred torturing us, especially the younger students, and so we'd meet up later so I could let her know I was ok. She made it look like she had it out for me so that she would be the one to curse me, so I wouldn't be hurt as much. She knew some of those in her house loved to inflict pain, not most, but enough. She did what she could with what she had."

Hermione shuddered, knowing this year was going to be one like no other. The stark realities of the past few years needed to be acknowledged, wounds lanced and tended to, old hatreds and grudges addressed. Her mind subconsciously conjured up the image of icy blue eyes as she shuddered for a slightly different reason, as the Hogwarts silhouette loomed before them, the warm glow of its windows spilling out and painting a welcoming picture on the grass courtyard below.


	2. Chapter 2

**A/N: I don't own anything, all rights are with JK Rowling and Warner Brothers. I do this for fun and am not making any money.**

 **Chapter 2**

oOo-xXx-oOo

Hermione made her way into the great hall alongside Ginny, Luna and Padma before they broke off into pairs, making their way to their respective house tables. She ran her gaze over the four tables as she made her way to the Gryffindor bench, taking in the very small number of second years, and the even smaller number of the new 'eighth year' students.

She knew the reason for the second year's anemic class size, anyone with half a brain knew the reason. No muggleborn had been allowed at Hogwarts last year, and the majority of half blood families had made the decision to either continue homeschooling or had enrolled their children in either Beauxbatons or Durmstrang.

She had read over the summer in the Daily Prophet that the Ministry was making concessions for those who hadn't been allowed to enroll the previous year. Along with the already slated eleven year olds that would be entering Hogwarts , those who had been denied because of their blood status the year before would also be allowed to attend also as first years. This would result in one of those biggest class sizes in Hogwarts history, but Hermione was pleased that the government was actually being proactive, level headed and progressive in its approach to Hogwarts interventions and the impact the war had on the Wizarding population, especially children.

' _Unlike previous governments,_ ' she thought bitterly.

Professor Sprout had taken over the duties of leading the first years into the hall as Professor McGonagall was now headmistress, and she led the immense gaggle of twittering, wide eyed youngsters forward toward the stool and the sorting hat.

As the sorting began, Hermione let her mind wander and her eyes roam the hall.

"Hermione," whispered Ginny, nudging her arm to pull her attention away from the sorting and her lazy musings, "I think the house with the most returning eighth year students is Slytherin. I would have thought the opposite, given everything..."

"I know," Hermione whispered back. "I passed their compartment on the train. All of them returned, except for Crabbe."

Hermione felt a chill pass down her spine after saying his name.

The horror of watching Crabbe die in front of her, they way the fire had engulfed him, the sounds of the screams that had wrenched from him before he become nothing more than ash and smoke were reoccurring visitors in her frequent nightmares. It didn't matter, her negative feelings toward the boy, watching someone die in such a grotesque and senseless way always affected those who bore witness.

"I know you've counted," Ginny was saying, "How many of you are there?"

"Eight Slytherins, six Ravenclaws, four Hufflepuffs and four Gryffindors. Twenty-two in total… just over a quarter of what we'd normally have in our combined year…"

Ginny let our a low whistle.

"Even with two houses combined like most years, a class of twenty-two is extremely small. And to have that be all four houses… no wonder they've combined you all into one."

"Not that Binns will notice a difference," said Hermione with a smirk, and softly giggling, they settled in to watch the sorting.

oOo-xXx-oOo

As Hermione had expected, the sorting was one of the longest and largest in Hogwarts history. The line of tiny little fidgety children that snaked down the center of the Great Hall and congregated around the oversized double doors got smaller as each one was called to the front, and Hermione could see some of the students were chatting excitedly to each other while others stood alone, close to tears.

The first child that was sorted into Slytherin had immediately burst into tears, and while most students in the hall looked on with various expressions of disgust, empathy, dismissal or laughter, Hermione felt a sense of injustice as to her peers reactions toward the little girl who looked like she'd just been sent to the guillotine.

The little girl hadn't moved, even with Professor Sprout patting her shoulder and whispering what looked like kind words in her ear.

"Should you go up there as Head Girl?" Murmured Hermione to Ginny, who nodded and started pushing away from the table to rise.

However, before she had moved even an inch, Tracy Davis had left the Slytherin table and approached the small blond girl, kneeling down in front of her so that they were eye level. She spoke softly, her words solely for the little girl, who sniffled and nodded before allowing herself to be led to her new house table, settling in between two second years before Tracy moved back to her own seat.

Hermione felt a stab of respect for how Tracy had handled the situation and the compassion she'd shown her new housemate.

She was also appalled at how the other students had reacted. She felt stirrings of righteous indignation begin to simmer in her chest, and innerly snorted at the thought that the downtrodden she was incensed over were in fact Slytherins, as for years that house had been the most vocal bullies.

' _Oh how the mighty have fallen,'_ she mused.

There was a disproportionate amount of Gryffindors than were typically sorted, as well as a rather large amount of Hufflepuffs. Ravenclaw seemed to maintain their ratio, and Slytherin. Well… there were many repeats of the first student's reaction, and their sorting numbers had dropped, unsurprisingly.

She knew the hat could take personal choice into account if there were multiple houses in question, and it looked like these students were utilizing this.

About halfway through she could feel her stomach begin to borborygmi, and despite how utterly adorable these little ones were with their tentative excitement, she was eager for the welcoming feast to begin. The hearty breakfast she'd scarfed down at the Burrow before apparating to the train platform was long since digested, and the sweets and snacks she'd shared with Neville, Luna and Ginny on the train had done nothing to placate her hunger pains and desire for roast beef and pudding.

She'd become accustomed to eating minuscule amounts sporadically interspersed with long stretches of fasting during their previous year on the run; however, the last couple of months spent bouncing between the Burrow with Mrs Weasley's cooking and Kreacher at Grimmauld Place had seen a healthy resurgence of her appetite. Now, she could rival Ron in the amount of food she could put away at one sitting, though her table manners were vastly superior.

Her cheeks had only just recently begun to lose their gaunt hollowness that had etched and carved her features, her skin the sallow pallor lent by nutrient deficiency. She was still far too thin for her own liking, but knew her health was in an upswing and she'd hopefully be back to baseline before the Christmas break if she ate the way she had over the summer.

"Zeke, Chester," Professor Sprout called and the last ickle first year climbed onto the stool.

"Hufflepuff," the hat roared and the nervous looking boy stumbled his way toward his new house table, looking relieved.

There had been over two hundred new students. Two hundred! The sorting ceremony had taken over two hours, according to Dean who'd consulted his wristwatch after some rather loud pestering from Seamus, and she could tell by the grumbles and sounds from those around her and throughout the hall that they, along with herself, had gone from happy to welcome these new faces to thoroughly disgruntled and begrudging of their presence.

She snuck a glance at the Slytherin table to see what reactions those in her year were displaying regarding the prolonged ceremony and delayed food service. Shocked, she dropped all pretense of subtlety and openly stared.

All eight of the Slytherins who'd returned for their eighth year were sitting there, poised in what looked like respectful silence, hands folded neatly on the table in front of them, eyes turned dutifully toward the front Dias.

She could only see a couple of their faces as the others had her back to her, but those she could see had wiped any and all emotion from their face save for polite interest. It was a bit unnerving, having spent the previous years hearing Harry drone on about Malfoy's antics or watching Zabini flirt with some of his housemates and watching Nott read, only including himself in a conversation when it appeared he had no other choice. Gone were the openly hostile looks of disdain and superiority, gone was Pansy Parkinson trying to attract Malfoy's attention.

It was as if all personality had been sucked from their marrow, and left behind paper shadows of their former selves. It was unnerving, and she knew Harry would have pounced immediately, coming up with some conspiracy theory or another and thinking about what dastardly plot they were planning.

Looking at her peers, she just felt sad, knowing that war took its toll on all of them, even those positioned on the opposite side.

As she surveyed their faces, she came to rest on the one closest to the double doors, and her breath caught in her throat as she realized this face wasn't turned toward the Dias as all the others were, but was staring elsewhere.

Staring right back at her.

Their eyes locked for what felt like hours, but in reality was only seconds, before his lips tilted into the briefest of sardonic smirks, his head jerking minutely into a subtle mocking nod of acknowledgment, before once more flicking back up toward the front like the others.

Her stomach gave a bit of a flip, and she felt… clammy, hot and… confused.

She'd never had this reaction to him before. Why now? Why him?

"Hermione, are you alright?" Ginny asked, placing her hand on Hermione's arm, "Your face is all red…"

"I'm fine Ginny, just a bit hot in here," she said, mentally brushing aside her unsettling reaction and began loading her plate with mountains of food.


	3. Chapter 3

**A/N: Thank you to everyone who's reviewed, followed or favorited this story, it means a lot. I'm so glad you're enjoying it so far!**

 **Legal: I own nothing.**

 **Chapter 3**

oOo-xXx-oOo

After the feast, Theodore Nott found himself walking between Blaise and Draco down the darkened torch-lit corridor toward their common room, Daphne and Tracy somewhere up ahead and Millicent helping her brother with the younger years at the start of the procession of the snakes. Pansy and Greg had been the first ones of their group to head back after supper, not wanting to hang about, something for which Theo was grateful.

They were all friends of a sort — you couldn't go through seven years of global school ostracism preceded by a childhood spent amongst the pureblood elites' spawn without cultivating allies — but their friendship was more in a dysfunctional-family sort of way than true camaraderie. Though he liked both of them well enough, he also found them the most exhausting ones in their group, and so never groused when given a reprieve from their presence.

"Bloody hell, that was a long one," muttered Blaise, a look of aggravation disrupting the state of his perpetually aloof face. "It was all I could do to keep my eyes open, let alone maintain the appearance of giving a shite."

"You're not the one under a ruddy microscope, with everyone waiting for you to slip up," said Draco somberly, "I can't afford to make any wrong moves this year, or it's Azkaban for me, with a cell next to father."

Blaise gave a mocking, derisive nod; he seemed almost pityingly amused at Draco's plight; Theo himself remained silent, knowing no words were needed, and not wanting to let on his own contemplations.

They all knew the score — the eldest Slytherins — knew they needed to keep their heads and wits about them, eyes down and mouths shut this year. Get their NEWTS and get out.

That was the plan anyways.

A plan some would have an easier time with than others.

They were the house that bore the tattered bloodstained capes of the losing team, regardless if they'd actually been on it. None of the returning eight, save for Draco, had actually been an active participant in the war their parents waged, nor a follower of The Dark Lord, but that didn't matter. Not to those outside the walls of the Slytherin house. To be Slytherin was the equivalent of Death Eater in the minds of the rest of the school, the minds of the ministry and of the public at large.

Didn't matter they were just children, doing their best to survive in a world changing before their eyes, where the rules and securities they'd grown up with were tossed aside like yesterday's trash by those without care or knowledge of their reasons or context.

The sins of the father tarred them all with the same brush. The masks they wore to the world their only protection, yet in reality condemned them further.

And Draco… well, he had his own reasons for doing what he did; being used as leverage against those he loved… he had his own demons to wrestle, his own penance to carry out.

And again, outside these walls, those reasons, his self-flagellation, didn't matter, only the public's perceptions of his person based on assumption and rumor. Not logic, nor the fact that if the shoe was on their foot they'd probably have made the same choices Draco had.

They reached the common room entrance and the three of them made their way to where the girls and Greg were already positioned by the great glass wall showcasing the lake's underwater masterpiece. Once ensconced within the sanctity of their own house walls, the public masks they wore during the day were removed, and their true masks donned. The ones that kept friends close and enemies closer.

It was too dangerous to go through life unmasked, they'd learned, even amongst their own. Too much had hinged on presenting the 'proper' face over the years, with loyalty the most coveted commodity, and the one with the highest cost. Falling out of favor and social ostracism was the least of their worries if the mask slipped in front of the wrong person, _even_ a friend.

Best keep their hand close to the vest, an ace up the sleeve and pray the house doesn't win.

It was hard to stop what had now become second nature, this seamless shifting of personas; almost impossible to be the first to let theirs drop.

Daphne sat perched on the antique sofa, braiding Millicent's thick inky hair, who sat cross legged in front on the floor. Pansy lay sprawled on her stomach on the floor beside her, arms around a bolster pillow as she flipped through an issue of Wonder Witch. Tracy sat with her legs curled up beside her in an oversized chair covered in silk of the deepest greens and finished with ornate baroque wood detailing.

It was crowded in the common room, but the boys had made their way through easily enough, the swarm of students parting almost instantly to create a path for the older students to pass unimpeded.

Reaching the girls, Blaise folded his tall frame down in front of Tracy, nuzzling her leg with his head so that she could run her fingernails over his short, tight curls. He'd been doing that since fourth year, like a regal puppy demanding attention, and Tracy was the only one willing to indulge him.

He had never ribbed her about being a half-blood, like most of them had at one point or another.

At least not to her face.

Draco leaned against the wall of glass, pensively staring out into the water's depths. Theo noticed him absently running his fingers over his left sleeve, a habit he knew Draco'd developed in sixth year whenever he felt overwhelmed or vulnerable.

It was a tell, but only if one knew to look for it.

Greg, who had originally been standing by the wall of glass, moved away when Draco sidled up, sitting down beside Daphne, who automatically twitched away, infinitesimally, closer to the armrest. Only Blaise, Tracy and Theo appeared to notice her reaction, Theo observed, though it was common knowledge that Greg was pretty oblivious about the majority of social proprieties and norms, never realizing when he made someone uncomfortable.

' _Or maybe he does, and he pretends otherwise to gain advantage.'_

By this point of their acquaintance Theo thought it could go either way, but if he wasn't as thick as he acted these past eight years, it was the longest, most convincing con yet.

Apart from his own.

Theo took the other oversized chair across from Tracy and pulled a book from his leather satchel out onto his lap, opening it to the page he'd bookmarked on the train. He flicked his wrist and muttered the sound masking spell Professor Snape had shared with only a select few during sixth year, protecting their privacy as he wasn't sure which way this conversations would go.

Scant seconds passed before he realized he'd preformed wandless magic in front of his peers.

A skill he had been very careful to never publicly reveal.

' _Shit_ ,' he thought venomously, and surreptitiously glanced around him, his sharp eyes flickering around for any reaction or sign of witness, but thankfully, no one seemed to have caught his slip up.

He breathed a sigh of relief and sank deeper into the chairs comforts.

They hadn't really seen one another since the final battle — there had been trials, 'impromptu' family 'vacations' to the continent, repositioning amongst society's circles and mostly just laying low, separately licking their wounds, keeping out of sight — and the train ride had been spent discussing inane topics devoid of substance; waiting for the protection and sanctity of their dungeons to shed their proverbial skins and delve into the less pleasant, more revealing conversations.

"I can't believe we have a year of this shite," moaned Pansy, flipping the pages with increasingly aggressive force. "Self-righteous bigots themselves… condemning a little girl for being sorted into Slytherin. Filthy Hypocrites."

"Careful now Pansy," tsked Blaise derisively, "better not use _that_ word, lest it still be thought to pertain to blood whenever spoke before through your lips…"

"They wonder why we keep to ourselves," spat Pansy, "As if any of them could imagine what being in our house is _actually_ like…"

As this thread of conversation continued around him, mostly between Pansy and Greg with minor input from the rest, Theo nodded where he deemed appropriate but his thoughts were running counter to what was being discussed.

 _'Eight years_ ,' he thought, ' _Eight years and it's the same old bloody conversations. It's no wonder the other houses don't see us for whom we are, if we don't even show our true selves to each other lest we tip our hand.'_

Instead of participating, he let his mind wander to the feast hours earlier, and the pleasant surprise he'd felt when he'd seen her looking.

Again.

Surprisingly, without the scorn or condemnation most did when they glanced his way; without the normal judgments bestowed.

 _'The sins of thy father_ …'

He thought of how his heart had sped slightly, how his hands had shook minutely, how his mouth had gone suddenly dry when, for the second time that day, their eyes had met and held.

He could willingly drown in those eyes, sucked deep into their molten depths like a grindylow dragging its prey. He'd done his best over the years to avoid meeting them, always preferring to keeping his eyes averted and head down; he knew they'd see too much, more than he was willing to risk letting slip past his carefully crafted facade.

He ruminated on the various emotions he'd witnessed flitter across her face at dinner and for the first time since getting on the train for another school year, Theo was actually looking forward to going to class.

He wondered how she'd react if his ever present mask should crack…

As he pulled himself back to the present, he realized the topic of conversation was still the same, and exchanged a subtle glance with Blaise, who rolled his eyes and said derisively, "You honestly think the lot of them will forgive you any time in the near future Pans? For suggesting to offer up for slaughter their shiny little hero?"

"Not bloody likely," snorted Greg, crossing his arms. "Bleeding arseholes, like they wouldn't have done the same to save their own hide if given the chance. Or if one of us was wanted…"

"You think they didn't?" Theo said quietly, deciding to enter the verbal fray; closing his book and placing it back into his booksac. "You don't think there were chances to turn him in, to expose him, to gain favor or salvation for themselves by doing so? Yet it _appears_ ," he looked around at his assembled friends, "that those who had that chance never took it, otherwise the war would have ended quite differently." He flicked a subtle glance toward Draco, assessing him as he said this.

Apart from a muscle twitching in his jaw, the blond gave no other indication of hearing Theo's words.

Pansy had grown sullen and withdrawn at Blaise's rebuke of how she'd let fear and desperation crack her. Her cheeks burned remembering the humiliation of the whole school turning on her and threatening her that still hadn't faded.

"I was terrified." She said quietly, the tone so un-pansy like that it had Millicent reaching over and laying his hand on top of hers, giving it a squeeze of support. "I didn't want to die… didn't want those I loved to die. What was one, for the sake of all others? For the sake of restoring order."

"I get wanting to protect those you love Pans, I do. But where would it end? One becomes another becomes another…" said Tracy matter of factly. "And everyone has someone they love, that they want to protect. It had to stop. I don't judge you for saying what a lot will probably never acknowledge to thinking themselves, but I can also understand why this will be a bigger hurdle to publicly overcome than some other transgressions."

"Can you honestly tell me, Pansy, that a world where The Dark Lord had won would be preferable to the one we venture forward in now?" Theo asked baldly. "Like he wouldn't have killed any one of us, without hesitation, if it suited him. Never mind the ease and frequency in which he crucio'd his _loyal_ followers over the mildest indiscretion… you think that would have been a better life? Walking on eggshells, bowing for scraps of approval from a megalomaniac, being pawned off to the highest bidder who'd have you like some pureblooded sow?"

Theo shook his head in disgust at her naivety.

"Vincent would be alive for one," muttered Greg, crossing his arms belligerently.

"Would he?" Asked Draco sharply, turning from the window and speaking for the first time since they had entered the common room. Their heads swiveled towards him.

"The Dark Lord was literally a psychopath at the end there. Theo speaks the truth. Living with him, I saw first hand how his resurrection twisted him far beyond the boundaries of nature and reasoning, and if he'd won…" Draco broke off, swallowed visibly then continued, "It was by his own fucking wand and ego that he perished, and only by others compassion you and I didn't. You knew Vince, as well as I did, Greg, if not better. He was always a bit touched in the head, made him a great follower but also a liability. Liabilities are dangerous to those in power. It was only his fathers good standing with the Dark Lord that gave him any possible favor at all…" his voice drifted off as he stared once more out the window, before continuing so softly, "and family was the Dark Lord's most favored weapon to demand loyalty and exert control…"

Theo knew all to well the truth behind those words. They had shaped his life from an early age, made him into the man he was today.

Trite words to describe a very non-trite circumstance.

"I for one am glad he was defeated. As a half blood, once he got done with killing muggles and muggleborns, it wouldn't be a reach to think he'd come for my lot next… The Gryffindors will be beyond obnoxious about their victory though. Shame that." Said Tracy, shrugging.

"Wasn't just team red and gold, the whole damn school was on the side of the 'light'," Pansy did hand quotations around the word, grimacing in disgust. "It's not like we were the only house to churn out Death Eaters; there were those who didn't wear the mark but still believed in the Dark Lord's ideologies that weren't solely silver and green. Lots of Puffs and Claws and even some mighty Gryffindors also followed the Dark Lord, that embraced and carried out heinous acts of their own in his name, but no one ever talks about them. It's disgusting." She spat.

"We _know_ Pansy," Daphne sighed, obviously tired of Pansy harping on, "But we haven't exactly made it easy on ourselves either."

"With Draco picking fights with the bloody 'golden trio' every chance he got and Pansy and Greg spewing the shit they did throughout the years, it's no wonder everyone believes the worst of us." Said Theo.

"Well, bully that. I'd like to see any one of those tossers live a day in our shoes, they'd be dead within the hour." Said Pansy mulishly. "And you were there right along with us Theo, don't go acting all regal and above us now."

"You do have to admit," Draco smirked, looking about nostalgic, "some of my taunts were pretty brilliant. I think I still have a 'Potter Stinks' badge in my trunk somewhere... should dig it out, dust it off."

"Brilliant, obsessed… either way, you were persistently annoying about it," drawled Blaise, stretching his arms fluidly above his head before rising from where he sat.

"As thrilling and yet oh so redundant as this conversation is, I'm right knackered. I'll see you all in the morning, where we can compare who had the shittiest summer and play 'who's parent fucked them over the worst'."

And with that he sauntered towards the new door the castle had created, marked 'eighth years' where two new rooms lay beyond down a short corridor to house the extra students, Greg following a few moments later.

"We should pack it in too," Daphne said, as Millicent yawned loudly causing Tracy to giggle before offering her hand to Pansy to pull her up.

"Night boys, go get your beauty rest. You need it." Pansy cheeked, patting Theo on the head before the girls made their way in Blaise and Greg's wake, leaving just Draco and Theo behind from their group.

As the common room emptied, the two boys stayed in their tableau — Draco pensive and silently staring at the lake's underwater masterpiece, Theo reading — until it was just the two of them left, their silhouettes now outlined only by the simmering glow from the lake.

"It's just us now Draco," said Theo, placing his bookmark in and closing the book. He waited until Draco turned from the glass and lowered himself dejectedly in the seat Tracy had vacated, grey eyes meeting ice blue before saying firmly, "We need to talk."

"We do," Draco whispered, nodding and leaning forward to rest his elbows on his knees, his head in his hands, before words began to spill from his lips to Theo's ears, and the first facades began to fall.


	4. Chapter 4

**Legal: I own nothing.**

 **Chapter 4**

oOo-xXx-oOo

"Oi! Malfoy, get your pasty white arse out of bed! Breakfast's served in fifteen minutes," Theo said, throwing a hair brush at the sleeping form of his dormmate.

"Umphf bugger off," muttered Draco inelegantly, rolling over before crashing down onto the hard floor below, Greg having pushed him out of bed.

"What the bleeding fuck was that for?!" Draco roared, rubbing his elbow where it'd broken his fall.

"Get up you git, I don't want to miss out on the good sausages."

"You could have all gone up without me, s'not like you haven't before."

"That was then," said Blaise simply, not caring to elaborate further. "Now get a move on."

Ten minutes later saw all eight of the eldest Slytherins making their way en mass toward the Great Hall. Daphne, Millicent and Tracy were chatting quietly ahead of Blaise, who, in his typically haughty fashion, kept needling Draco about his childish pout, much to Greg and Pansy's delight.

Theo just wanted to get through breakfast and start classes. His tolerance for pedantic bullshit was starting to run thin — a new record low for him, as not even twenty-four hours had passed since entering the castle — and he just wanted to sink into the solace and protection of learning, the safety of a room overseen by a professor.

Hiding in plain sight.

As they sat down at the end of their table, in similar spots as the night prior, Theo felt his senses tingle, sensed someone watching him. He automatically raised his eyes to where he hoped to find the source, and was rewarded when his glance once again met with eyes of the richest espresso.

He saw a hesitant smile flit across her lips — barely a tilt to the corners, but he definitely noticed — before mirroring the sardonic nod he'd given her the previous night and visually dismissing him to chat with the female Weasley beside her.

' _Such cheek_ ,' he thought in amusement, snorting into his water glass, earning him an elbow from Draco.

"You ok mate?" He whispered, scanning the room for any possible threats.

"Yeah, just swallowed the wrong way is all." Theo lied easily, and downed the contents of his glass before reaching for the porridge.

As he ladled steaming oats the consistency of aggregate cement into his bowl, topping it with cut up fruit that was days passed being considered fresh and a dashing of chilled cream, the conversation he'd had with Draco last night replayed itself in his mind.

oOo-xXx-oOo

 _"It's just us now Draco," Theo said before placing his bookmark in and closing the book. He waited until Draco turned from the glass and lowered himself dejectedly in the seat Tracy had vacated, grey eyes meeting ice blue before he'd said firmly, "We need to talk."_

 _"We do," Draco whispered, nodding and leaning forward to rest his elbows on his knees, his head in his hands, before words had began to spill from his lips to Theo's ears._

 _"I should have listened, Theo, all those times you and Daphne tried to reason with me… should have kept my head down like you did." He said, his body shaking from suppressed emotions and what Theo knew to be the after effects of frequent long term Cruciatus curse subjugation. "The things I've seen, what I almost had to do…I've been such a fool, for far too many years…"_

 _Theo glanced steadily at the pale, broken boy-turned-man sitting in front of him, and saw barely a hint of the arrogant, self centered and self-important child he'd been. Theo knew he himself bore no resemblance to the boy he once was, underneath his subtle camouflage, and was saddened no one knew that but him. That boy had died, along with his mother, at the hands of his father many years before._

 _"If I had just stopped to think, to question…" Draco's chest heaved, the granite of his self control broke and a sob tore from his throat. The sound skittered down Theo's back, it's mimicry of a wounded animal chilling in its carnal rawness. He flicked his hand again to ensure the sound masking spell was still intact, and he saw Draco's eyes widen at the action._

 _'Dragon's out of the forest now,' Theo mused, though he knew every move he made around his comrades was executed through determined thought and calculated intent, never unintentionally barring exception of earlier that evening. That he did so now meant he wanted Draco to see him preform wandless non-verbal magic, wanted him unbalanced, to rattle his ego and sense of security._

 _"Yes, yes, you were an obnoxious tosser who's superiority and arrogance ultimately didn't count for shite, but what's done is done Draco." Theo said steadily, having secured Draco's full attention as desired. "Years were spent making you into the man you are today, but it doesn't have to take years to change your course. You can let your past define where you go from here, Draco, remain sullied by you and your father's failings and let the Malfoy name die an undignified death shrouded in hate and synonymous with cowardice…"_

 _Draco glared fiercely up at him, a spark of his original silvered-spoon indignation rising at the slur against the Malfoy name. Theo only smirked, the coldness of his eyes in contrast to the projected warmth tilting his lips as he continued with his proposition._

 _"… or you can begin thinking for yourself, ask questions, make your own calls. We are the last descendants of our houses, as well as the new patriarchs; our esteemed fathers having been stripped of that title and prestige upon incarceration. Stand with me, Draco, in rebuilding our ancestral homes from the ashes in which they now reside. I will not tolerate my_ father _," he spat the word so venomously that Draco jerked away from him, "desecrating the last thing I can lay claim to, my familial name. I refuse to allow the house of Nott be associated with Voldemort's insanity any longer, to be thought synonymous with violence and tyranny. I owe it to myself, to mother, to leave behind a better legacy than that."_

 _"Your mother? What…" Draco queried but Theo cut him off brusquely with a wave of his hand._

 _"Another conversation for another day."_

 _He stood then, pulling himself up to his full height, standing with a poise befitting the head of one of the oldest, most established houses in the Wizarding World, and looked down on Draco with serious earnestness._

 _"I'd always wished for us to be proper mates, but you couldn't abide someone besting you, in any fashion. You had me play a role that frankly, has chaffed and chained me for too long, without even knowing you'd done so. It's a new dawn, Draco, and I refuse to bow and defer, not to you or anyone else, anymore. I refuse to conduct myself in the manner in which the Dark Lord desired, and do not find amusement in that which our fathers did. The old way is done, over, and good fucking riddance too. It's your choice now Draco, stand together with me, on these terms, or keep walking the path you've tread so far…"_

 _He held out his hand — an offer of friendship, of fresh beginnings — and Draco stared intently at it as if it held the secrets of the universe wrapped in poisoned twine. As the minutes ticked past with no movement from Draco, Theo all but decided his offer was dismissed and had made to lower his hand when he'd felt the smooth, cold, clammy palm slip into his own. He hoisted Draco from the chair where they stood together as equals._

 _"You won't regret this," said Theo earnestly, giving the hand a squeeze before letting them drop apart. "Together, we rebuild our houses. Rebuild our reputations, our social standings. Make them what they should have been, before our fathers fucked everything up."_

oOo-xXx-oOo

The sounds of eating and drinking were the noises that first filled Theo's ears when he pulled his attention back to the happenings of the morning meal; along with the multitude of vocal tones overlapping around the great hall as more and more students filled their seats in search of hearty sustenance. Theo was just scraping the porridge from the bottom of his bowl — without dragging his spoon against the ceramic so as not to incur Daphne's wrath — when Professor McGonagall stood up from the head table and raised her hands to attract attention.

As the hall fell silent, she announced, "Years one to six, your timetables were handed out during breakfast and lessons will begin without delay as normal in twenty minutes. Seventh and Eighth years are to remain behind after breakfast for additional instruction and information. Thank you."

With that, she sat abruptly, surveying the students in front of her.

He'd never had any strong feelings of dislike toward the Professor, now new headmistress, unlike some of his housemates. He sure as hell liked her a lot more than he ever had Dumbledore. He felt a lot of resentment, among other derisive sentiments, toward the old coot, for countless reasons. Primarily, his unabashed negative bias toward Slytherin house, and doing nothing to help Draco in sixth year until it was too late, despite knowing about everything all along.

 _'We Slytherins never stood a chance under him,_ ' thought Theo bitterly.

"Wonder what ol' McGonagall wants with us?" Said Tracy.

"Probably something about how we are to fit into a school we shouldn't even be at anymore," replied Pansy, disdainfully inspecting her nails with a slight scowl.

"There're a lot of places we shouldn't be at, Pans, but here isn't one of them." Said Daphne quietly. "Be grateful we're allowed this chance at starting fresh. I for one am not going to waste it by being a berk about it."

oOo-xXx-oOo

"Bunch up you lot. Closer, closer, that's it now." Called Professor McGonagall, waving her hands to indicate where she'd prefer they assemble in front of her.

"Coots, for Merlin's _sake_ , she won't bite! Scooch over." she snapped at a seventh year who was maintaining almost two feet of distance between him and the girl Ravenclaw beside him. Theo saw the boys cheeks redden before he shuffled down the bench closer to the girl under Professor McGonagall's pointed stare. She waited with eyebrow raised and lips pursed for the remaining students to settle themselves on the benches in front of the headmistress before beginning.

"Now that you've all made yourselves comfortable, may I offer a heartfelt 'Welcome back,' to all of you. To the eight years, I must admit, I greatly approve of you returning rather than simply challenging your exams like some of your peers. There are many things to be learned this year, that are simply outside of what a classroom will cover nor that will be listed on the examinations. I hope this year will provide for you either," she paused and ran her sharp gaze over each of the twenty-two returnees before finishing, "a fresh start or a well deserved opportunity for normalcy in your educational experience. Perchance both."

Draco tilted his head subtly toward Theo and muttered in the faintest whisper, "I wonder if this means I now rank higher than Precious Potter in her esteem…you know, having returned and all instead of seeking further glory."

Theo gave a tiny snort in acknowledgment.

"Not a chance, mate," he whispered back, "but you may now rank slightly higher than the giant squid."

"Mr. Nott, Mr. Malfoy." Snapped Professor McGonagall sternly, "Would you be so inclined as to share what you find more riveting a conversation than what I'm discussing?" Another arched eyebrow. More pursed lips.

"Apologies, Professor," said Draco, eyes downcast with frustration and cheeks aflame at being caught out.

Theo murmured the same, though kept his chin up and face respectfully neutral.

"Now then, as eighth years and of-age witches and wizards, you are granted the privileges of no curfew and unfettered Hogsmeade access. If these are abused in any fashion, however, rest assured there will be swift and unsavory consequences." Pointed glances were shot at a few of the Gryffindors as well as, surprisingly, some Hufflepuffs, earning a bit of mirth to sprinkle throughout the group.

Against the mirth there was also displeased muttering by the seventh year lot, and Theo smirked as he heard a few choice words uttered over the steady vocal din.

"Quiet down, quiet down, seventh years. I understand your displeasure that the rules have not been altered for you as well, but rest assured; come next year when you are the age these men and women are now, you too won't have a curfew and can enjoy unfettered access to Hogsmeade.

A slight grin settled itself upon the corners of the headmistress's lips at her witty rebuke, so similar to that which Granger had flashed him this morning, that Theo had to do a double take.

' _Gryffindors_ ,' he thought ruefully, ' _are more cunning than we give credit._ '

"On a positive note, a common room has been created that can be used by all seventh and eighth year students, located in the third floor behind the statue of St. Brutus. The password is "Valor."

At this, murmurs of excitement broke out between the students and it took a moment for the headmistress to regain quiet again.

"This room is soley for use by your two years, no younger year, and is to promote interhouse unity as well as to facilitate a new educational experiment you will be expected to undertake this year."

At this, Theo was surprised Granger's hand hadn't already shot into the air to ask questions about the assignment. It surprised him that he felt saddened at this change in pattern. Almost, bereft, at the loss of this perpetual constant.

The headmistress continued, "Seventh and Eighth year students will be required to partner up and create a final project based on combining theories from two or more subjects. As both years will be covering the same curriculums, pairs can be either within the same year or one from each. Partners are to be chosen by the end of this week. Failure to do so shall result with one being assigned, which is not the ideal intent. Final projects will be due three weeks before end of term, with designated time set aside on Friday afternoons after morning classes in which to work on it. You are also at liberty to utilize your own free time should you so choose."

"Not bloody likely," was heard muttered somewhere to Theo's right, but he didn't see who murmured it.

"Please select your partner carefully, as switching mid way through will not be tolerated nor accommodated unless under extreme circumstances and at my sole discretion. Lastly, it is strongly suggested your partner be someone of a different house, even a different year, as it brings more depth and understanding through differing approaches, promoting tolerance and hopefully patience, as well as further reenforcing the concept of unity crucial to the Wizarding world's rebuilding efforts."

Theo automatically knew who he wanted to partner with. There was only one person who he could envision spending hours with that wouldn't do his head in, someone who could challenge him both mentally and magically.

Someone he might even be able to let down his mask with…

Before Draco or one of his other housemates attempt to partner with him, he shifted his head and eyes surreptitiously to the left, looking for Granger.

He saw she was looking down at her hands, a thoughtful expression dotting her brow. As if sensing his eyes upon her, she looked up, and for the third time in two days, their gazes held.

He raised his eyebrows and shoulders slightly and jerked his head in question, hoping she understood his silent request.

He let out the breath he hadn't even realized he'd held when he saw her face relax from its pensive expression, and a small smile grace her lips instead.

She tilted her head slightly in his direction, nodding while mouthing her affirmative ' _yes_ ', and he couldn't help the genuine smile that pulled at his lips as he ducked his head to hide the evidence.

As Professor McGonagall asked for any questions following her announcement, Theo felt his hands grow clammy and his heart rate speed up, and, barely recognizing the foreign emotions coursing through him, realized with a jolt that it'd be years since he had something he was looking forward to with excitement rather than dread.

oOo-xXx-oOo

 **A/N: Thank you to all who've followed, favorited or reviewed this story. You are all wonderful!**


	5. Chapter 5

**Legal: I own nothing, it's all J.K. Rowling.**

 **Chapter 5**

oOo-xXx-oOo

Individual timetables with each student's selected classes were handed out shortly following Professor McGonagall's speech to all Seventh and Eighth years. This took a relatively short amount of time despite the amount of students, and Hermione spent it idly chatting with Luna, Neville and Ginny. When it came to Hermione's turn to select her subjects, Professor McGonagall adamantly refused to allow her to take more than the maximum nine, appearing exasperated that Hermione had even suggested it.

"Ms. Granger," she admonished in her customary clipped Scottish brogue, "I do believe I'd expressed a desire for you to somewhat… relax… this year, had I not? And with your final project — which knowing you will be nothing less than exemplary I'm certain — you'll be thanking me come Easter for not allowing the utter foolishness of your third year to be repeated."

Ginny had snorted at the look of defiant embarrassment that had flushed across Hermione's cheeks following the Professor's chastisement. As they left the Great hall, separating in the direction of their respective classes, Hermione felt slightly disgruntled that she'd been unable to take the newly revamped muggle studies, but without dropping either Arithmancy or Ancient Runes, something she adamantly refused to do, it simply wasn't feasible.

Though as disgruntled as she was, she was secretly relieved to not again experience the exhaustion and secrecy her third year had wrought. She'd also aged almost a full additional year through her liberal use of the time-turner, and wasn't keen to add more years again unnaturally.

As Hermione and the rest of the Eighth years made their way up from the Great Hall to their first period Charms class, she felt the absence of Harry and Ron more acutely than she had anticipated, even more than she had on the train. Though she got along well enough with the rest of her housemates, especially Neville, they weren't her 'people', nor she theirs. And although she was on decently friendly terms with those in other houses who'd been in the DA — with exception of some Ravenclaws who'd taken exception to her treatment of Murietta — there was no one in her year she'd consider confiding in or fully letting her hair down around. At less than not yet.

Well, there was maybe one at present…

A heavy wave of loneliness crashed sharply down around her shoulders, and she wished Ginny and Luna were in her core courses, not just in electives. At least then she'd have their snarky humor, witty comments and interesting and insightful observations to keep her entertained; preventing her from becoming too serious, something Harry and Ron had expressed prior concern over.

"Promise you won't spend every waking minute in the library Hermione," Ron had requested a week before she'd left for Hogwarts, smirking at her lopsidedly as he tugged on a loose curl. "With no curfew and no Voldemort, I'll be right cross if you waste your last year just swotting it up. Break into Slughorn's stores, brew a banned potion, go on a knitting frenzy or hex some slimy Slytherins. Not fussed about what, just don't hide in or behind the books all year."

She'd swatted him on the arm with a laugh, "I am not hexing anyone you berk! No matter how bored I get without you to argue with."

"Har Har," he'd replied, and returned to the game of Wizards chess he was currently thrashing Harry at.

"Just take care of yourself Hermione," Harry had said, having realized asking her to limit her jaunts to the library was futile. "S'all we ask. I know we won't be there, but do us a favor, ya? Don't let yourself become too serious… make friends, have some fun — whatever that entails — or I'll sic Ginny and Luna on you with no regrets."

She'd rolled her eyes at their teasing but had felt warmed by their concern and care toward her wellbeing in their absence. This would be their first major separation — barring Ron's 'never-to-be-discussed-again' abandonment the year prior — since they'd become fast friends following the troll incident their first year. It was still all a bit surreal, not having them walking beside her or being able to talk with them at will.

As she trudged up the stairs leading to the third floor and classroom 2E located in the charms corridor, she reflected upon how the board of directors and the faculty were handling the extra educational load of twenty-two eighth year students alongside the seventh years. It had been explained earlier during Professor McGonagall's speech to the two years that though the core classes were to remain separated by year, the faculty — with board approval — deemed it necessary to combine the seventh and eighth year classes for electives due to the extremely small number of students each would have had, had the class years remained separate. Combined, they were still a manageable size, but gave a more robust learning opportunity than the three or four pupils in each would lend.

Part of the reason Hermione had returned to Hogwarts — in addition to completing her education and to receive as many NEWTS as possible — was to broaden her social circle and to really get to know others past the mark of a peripheral acquaintance. Now that she was over her infatuation with Ron, there was no Harry around to assist in getting either into or out of trouble, and was done — for now — with saving the world, she hoped it wouldn't be too anxiety-producing for her to put herself out there more. It would be an understatement to say she hadn't been great at it in first year —all eagerness and intellectual condescension — before the Troll incident had netted her her two best mates, and she hoped time would have smoothed over some of her… rougher… edges, making her more approachable and tolerable to be around.

' _Yeah right_ ,' she inwardly snorted, ' _you can be as rough as a nail file sometimes… good luck Hermione_!'

Sighing resignedly as she finally made it to the Charms corridor, she hitched her bag higher up on her left shoulder just as someone bumped into her opposite arm, causing her to stumble slightly and release a surprised yelp.

"Watcher, Granger," said the boy. A boy with a voice that conjured up images of blanket wrapped cuddles and whiskey on the rocks in front of a roaring fire. The juxtaposition of comfort and sin sent a subconscious shiver of desire down her spine, its potency taking her by surprise. He was regarding her with a level glance that to anyone else would appear to be one of polite disinterest, but, as close as they were standing, she could see mirth and — ' _was it_ _her imagination_?' — warmth simmering in the glacial irises appraising her.

Theodore Nott.

Owner of the most mesmerizing eyes she'd ever beheld, no longer caged by the thick black frames he'd worn in years past; the person currently causing her insides to flutter like newly hatched monarchs caught in an updraft.

They'd been… acquaintances, if they could even be classified as such, throughout the years. They'd shared a few electives as well as various core subjects and their few, infrequent interactions had only ever occurred during electives, when the full body of their houses were absent.

He'd been not only a pureblood Slytherin and she a muggleborn Gryffindor, but with her being a self-acknowledged swot who never could keep her mouth shut nor arm down and he a shy, remote, minimally effusive boy with perpetually down-cast eyes hidden behind thick black frames who appeared to abhor attracting attention, they'd rarely spoke or had any associations past minimal occurrences — occurrences always instigated and overseen by a Professor.

He'd never been outright cruel to her, nor did he actively participate in the taunts and actions the rest of his Slytherin peers engaged in toward her, Harry Ron, or those who weren't purebloods; he tended to stay along the sidelines or avoid the scene altogether, she'd noticed.

She'd noticed him a lot during the years, as he was the only one other than — to her amusement and annoyance — Malfoy, who could give her a run-for-her-money intellectually or magically. She knew it annoyed the pureblood elite no end that she bested them all continually in magical ability, at least, abilities that had been appraised at school.

She didn't want to think about the extensive 'private' lessons either boy had to have received over the years from their fathers, nor their potentially expansive arsenal of spells learned in ways never to be sanctioned by the ministry. Instead, she focused on that which was intrinsic to the boy himself, and quietly observed his actions and machinations.

When Harry had been obsessed with Malfoy during sixth year, she'd taken to surreptitiously observing Theo, knowing her observations would go unnoticed.

He'd already caught her attention in fourth year when he'd answered a question in arithmancy that had her stumped, and her awareness of him only grew throughout the years. When he'd become _Theo_ in her mind instead of _Nott_ she didn't know, only that somewhere along the way he'd become someone worth observing, became more than his surname to her.

Her interest and observations had also effectively taken her mind off of Ron and Lavender for half the year, and proved an intriguing distraction.

She knew his father had been present during and had battled them at the ministry, and was one of the Death Eaters caught, arrested and publicly shipped off to Azkaban. Despite the disgust and anger she felt toward his father, she didn't harbor any such feelings toward the boy himself and had instead been curious as to how Theo was faring as the whole school loudly discussed the arrests. While all the other children of the exposed Death Eaters groused and fumed and made menacing gestures and comments to to those around them, she'd felt stirrings of sympathy for the boy whose face never betrayed even the slightest hint of emotion, who seemed to be an island of stone unto himself.

She'd never, though, not once, reacted to his presence or had the sort of thoughts that were running through her mind as she did now.

Now, as his hand wrapped around the arm he'd jostled, steadying her and allowing her to right herself from her stumble, she realized she wasn't at all against having his hand upon her person. Nor to the extremely close proximity in which they stood, bodies almost touching.

The long, aristocratic fingers that wrapped around her bicep — another indication of the weight she'd lost on the run, she thought bitterly — were surprisingly gentle in their grip and she could feel the warmth of his palm seeping through the wool of her school sweater, heat spreading deliciously along her skin from where they connected. She felt goosebumps erupt along her arm and gave an indiscernible shudder of pleasure and vague anticipation.

She could feel her heart beat increase slightly at the tingle of awareness his proximity provoked, and she found she couldn't remove her gaze from his.

Nor was she particularly inclined to do so.

It could have been days but in reality was less than half a minute before the moment was broken, and before she could formulate either a 'thank you' or a cheeky rebuke for almost bowling her over, Malfoy had called for him to hurry up and Theo was gone, slinking around her with his cloak swirling amidst his ankles, his lanky posture assuming a poise he'd lacked in previous years.

She let out the breath that had lodged in her throat at his touch, feeling her lungs fill with cleansing air as her skin tingled under her sweater where she could still feel his hand print.

Theo had grown up, that was for damn sure, a young man replacing the boy she'd spent all those hours silently watching. How had she missed the way his face had angled out, his features becoming more refined, or how his cheeks and jawbone now bore a faint trace of a shadow, a clear indication he was now required to shave?

' _A year on the run and zeroing my focus in on Ron to all exclusion would do it,_ ' she thought wryly, and felt a twinge of sadness she had missed the transformation, relegated to only a spectator of the end result and not to the catalyst.

It wasn't until Hermione had reached classroom 2E, sat down at an empty desk and pulled her charms book out of her bag that a small piece of parchment — folded neatly into quarters — fell out alongside and onto the floor. Quickly snatching it up before it could be spotted or kicked along the row of desks by a passing student, she discreetly unfolded it In her lap, reading the message that was written in small, cramped strokes.

' _Library, 8pm, troll wars'_

No signature, standard black ink, nothing to indicate with whom she'd be meeting if she deigned to show.

But she knew.

She felt a smile flirt with the corners of her mouth as she fingered the crisp edge of the parchment, before reality decided to poke its fangs into her bubble of anticipatory musings.

Despite her immediate anticipation upon reading his missive, a slight sense of hesitation crept in at the thought of the proposed secluded get-together — for all her numerous hours of observation, it had been over a year since she'd laid eyes on him — and knew she really didn't _know_ Theo at all. She also knew Harry and Ron would be all over her for even considering spending time alone with him in the darker, more isolated and secluded stacks of the library.

' _Blimey Hermione, his father was a Death Eater! One of the original pack! I know I told you to live a little but this is beyond the pale. What makes you think you'll be safe, meeting with him? And you're supposed to be the smart one… What could a Slytherin possibly want with you, a muggleborn?_ '

She could practically hear Ron ask, and knew he'd inevitably say something tactless or thoughtless toward her in his protestations despite coming from the place of good intentions.

' _Hermione_ ,' Harry would say, _'I know you want to see the best in people, but come on! He's just another Malfoy, only less ferrety… even though he didn't take the mark, he's still a Voldemort follower! I don't much care that he's a Slytherin, but I don't trust him!'_

The thing about it was, she wasn't sure if he was a follower, or if he was like Zabini; a part of their group of snakes but separate somehow. She knew Theo'd laughed with Malfoy during sixth year when Slughorn had commented on her blood status, but she hadn't seen him jump into the blood purity propaganda that a lot of his peers had. She couldn't even remember if he'd been part of the inquisitorial squad during fifth year.

And for all she loved Harry like the brother she'd never had, and Ron was one of her closest mates; it never sat right with her their blanket disdain for the house of silver and green just because of some bad apples sprinkled throughout time. They seemed to conveniently forget other houses also having produced various nasty, prejudiced witches and wizards who'd carried out nefarious plans of their own — Peter Pettigrew for example. Who had also followed Voldemort.

Harry especially was always so quick to condemn Slytherins without evidence, and it took dying and the release of key memories — in the case of Professor Snape — dying for a house elf — Regulus Black — or an act of extreme bravery in the face of death upon suspicion of treason — Narcissa Malfoy — for his opinion to sway completely into the positively revered range. The world was still very much divided into black and white for him, despite Sirius's warnings about how intent mattered more than a label, and about those of the Wizarding populous who operated in the murky shades of grey.

' _No_ ,' Hermione thought, _'I won't let others fear or distrust dictate or influence my actions on this.'_

Not that she'd ever really let them do so to begin with, she was headstrong and heart-sure from the cradle on up; a Gryffindor to the core, despite the Sorting Hat originally contemplating a placement in Ravenclaw. Ultimately, Hermione knew she'd been sorted correctly despite almost being a hatstall and was thankful for it.

There really wasn't anything to consider, she was meeting Theo at eight, and that was that. She wasn't concerned for her safety — the pragmatic side of her knew it was his ass on the line should harm befall her anyway — but was confident that if anything had been achieved from the war she'd battled in, it was a collective distaste for more bloodshed. This was, after all, the new world shed had a hand in curating.

And that new world included equality and tolerance and benefit-of the doubt for everyone, including mysterious, mouth-wateringly attractive Slytherins.

Settling in to listen to Professor Flitwick describe the complex wand movement and incantation for the anti-theft charm, she realized she couldn't wait for eight o'clock to arrive, and was very conscious of the wizard sitting near the rear of the classroom, her awareness of him proving to be extremely distracting.


	6. Chapter 6

**Legal: I own nothing, it's all J.K. Rowling's.**

 **Chapter 6**

oOo-xXx-oOo

The library was all but deserted when Hermione arrived at the massive double doors carved in intricate details harkening back to the gothic era at ten to eight that evening. Passing by a few tables occupied by students — packing their belongings to head back before curfew — on her way to the rear of the cavernous room, Hermione couldn't help chuckling to herself as she realized that in all the years she'd attended Hogwarts, not once had she ever been in the library on the evening of their first day of classes. Second day, yes, but this was definitely a first. And she definitely hadn't sauntered down the center of the library, bold as brass, ten minutes before curfew.

She arrived to where the history section was housed, stacks upon stacks of books that bore no evidence of movement for decades — maybe longer — tucked away in a dusty corner of the library that was devoid of any interest whatsoever by the majority of the student body.

The stacks that contained the books on the Troll Wars were toward the last of the rows, near an alcove featuring two oversized windows, their panes cobwebbed and time worn with grime. It was apparent that no one had made their way down to this section for a lengthy amount of time, as a thick layer of dust blanketed the tables. There were only two of them, situated directly under the windows — each with their own desk lantern and dilapidated wooden chairs — and out of habit born after years of friendship with Ron the arachnophobe, she vanished first the evidence of spiders, then all the grime and dust before lighting the lantern and commandeering the table with the most direct view of entry into the alcove. Setting her book bag down upon the now dust-free tabletop, she chose the chair that would allow her to sit with her back to the wall and all points of entry covered.

Souvenirs of war; paranoia and constant vigilance.

She'd never previously felt uneasy in the vast expanse of the library, with its oppressively tall shelves casting dancing shadows upon the hardwood floor; even alone and close to curfew she'd never been unnerved.

This was her sanctuary, her place of solace.

But things change. She'd, changed.

A noise had her angling her head toward where she'd entered the alcove moments before, and it was seconds later that the silhouette of Theo appeared, illuminated from behind by the glow of multiple desk lanterns, making his body glow with a fuzzy halo.

He froze upon seeing her, so slightly she could have imagined it save for the flicker of surprise that momentarily skittered across his brow before his face curved into what she could only describe as supreme satisfaction and he continued forward.

"Granger," he said politely, the timber of his voice making her stomach dance at its husky cadence.

"Nott," she replied with a small, welcoming smile, gesturing to the empty seat across from her. He wasted no time in depositing his lanky frame with effortless grace, his long legs stretched out in front of him under the table; the toe of his shoe nudging one of her own before it retreated.

"I wasn't sure if you'd show," he said simply, his arctic gaze staring at her as if she were a knot to be unraveled. She appreciated he didn't insult either of their intelligence by suggesting she wouldn't have known with whom she'd be meeting.

"Why wouldn't I?" She asked, genuinely curious. It was true they weren't friends, not even proper acquaintances as there had never been any acknowledgment between them outside the classroom; however, he'd pleasantly surprised her this morning when he'd silently sought out her partnership for the final project, and with her acceptance, surely he realized that meant they'd have to actually… meet.

He shrugged but didn't answer, instead bent to pull out his own note book from his bag and set it down alongside his quill and ink on the table between them.

 _'Did I misread his intent this morning? Was he not inferring a partnership? Was there something else he wanted to meet for?…'_

Her mind began to race through possible scenarios and her perpetual self-esteem issues began to ascend and cloud over her earlier anticipation, sure now she'd blundered her first attempt at 'branching out' socially and he'd dismiss her for misunderstanding. She worried at her lip nervously, waiting on his answer.

Silence stretched between them, the absence of sound only broken by the wet slide of lip through teeth as Hermione worried her bottom lip.

"What's bothering you?" He asked softly, inquisitively, leaning forward to rest his forearms on the table, palms face down upon the wooden surface.

He'd removed his cloak after classes and his sweater and pressed white dress shirt underneath were on full display. He'd pushed up the sleeves of his sweater and rolled the arms of the dress shirt so the cuffs now rested open and folded neatly above his elbows. He'd also removed the tie and Hermione noticed he'd unbuttoned the top two buttons and had splayed the collar open, just enough for her to glimpse the shadowed hollow between the junction of his clavicle bones.

The sight of that hollow, coupled with the lean strands of tendon and muscle that flexed when he moved his arms made Hermione salivate.

She'd never seen him looking anything but properly put together in appearance. To see his school uniform worn in stages of deconstruction, well, he pulled off the casually disheveled look with an elegance Ron had never been able to manage. Instead of sloppy and haphazard, Theo appeared relaxed and almost… cozy.

Confident in his disarray.

Moving her eyes back to the triangle of exposed flesh below his jaw, she could picture dipping her tongue into that void just under his jawline, tasting him. Could imagine those arms, wrapping themselves around her, holding her…

"Erm, sorry, I didn't quite catch that." She murmured, embarrassed to realize he'd repeated his original question once already and was now regarding her with pensive amusement as he asked her his question yet again.

"I asked, what's bothering you Granger?"

She blinked, realizing she was still nawing on her lip — but now for an entirely _different_ reason — and fidgeting her fingers under the table.

"Nothing's wrong," she said automatically, refusing to meet his eyes for fear he'd read too much from them.

"Riiiiiight…" Theo drawled on an exhale, disappointment infusing each drawn out letter. She raised her gaze to find his piercing eyes appraising her shrewdly before he announced, "well then, if you're so opposed to being my partner, I should probably leave now, so I can hope to find someone as near suited."

"I'm not opposed!" Hermione blurted out, releasing her lip from between her teeth with a wet 'pop' and sitting up straighter.

"Beg pardon?" He asked, eyebrow raised in a fashion of aristocratic disbelief.

"I said, I'm not opposed," Hermione said, calmer and with better pronunciation.

"Then what's troubling you? Your face changed the moment I sat down — in not a pleasant way mind — and you were working your lip something fierce." She could see his brow furrow slightly.

' _Here goes nothing_ ' she thought.

"When you mentioned your surprise at me showing, I thought…". Hermione broke off and shook her head as a flush warmed her cheeks.

"Never mind that. I realize now I was mistaken." She gave a rueful sort of grin, shrugging her shoulder.

Theo blinked a couple times, before a slow smile full of genuine mirth spread across his lips; parting them to expose a set of white, almost perfectly aligned teeth. As the daughter of dentists, she immediately zeroed in on the slight overlap between the front bottom two, but rather than appear off-putting, she found the quirk endearing.

She was impressed with the near perfection of his smile, as she knew most wizards didn't understand muggle dentistry nor have an equivalent profession, and as such many of the wizarding population had mouths filled with teeth that left a _lot_ to be desired.

Not Theo though.

' _Nott, Theo_.' She gave an inner snort at her own pun.

"You thought you'd misinterpreted, didn't you? That I'd either baited you, or asked you here for something other than possibly wanting to confirm and ensure that yes, the smartest witch of our year wished to partner with me?"

She thought about the monologue that had rambled through her mind moments before _, 'It's just… you see, I miss my friends. I miss Harry, and Ron. This is our first time being majorly separated and I had promised myself, and them, that I'd make an effort get to know others in the school, regardless of house or history. And this morning, I thought you were motioning and asking to be partners for the project, and I was relieved because with you I won't have to do all the work as you're just as smart as I am and you're not lazy, at least not that I've noticed and when you dropped the note into my bag earlier I was looking forward to meeting you, as we've never really spoken but you seem an alright sort, at least, you've never been cruel to me or my friends, and then when you came you were so surprised to see me… it made me doubt my understanding of our interaction this morning in the great hall, and then maybe you meant the note for someone else… and I was disappointed….'_

There was no way she was letting those thoughts out of her mouth and into actual words.

"Something like that," she muttered, a trifle vexed that she was so transparent to him.

"You're not transparent," he said, and she gapped at him, "That's just what I would be thinking if roles were reversed…"

He paused then said, "I actually just wanted to meet to make sure you hadn't come to your senses and found a more, shall I say, _suitable_ partner. One that won't make others question your sanity. Because you'd have to have lost yours to willingly partner with me."

He said it like a statement, like fact. It wasn't a question, and though she was loath to pander to ego, she answered him anyways.

"Well that's just a load of nonsense. You're at the top of our year in marks save for myself and Malfoy, and I think between the two of us we'll be able to come up with a project that will be both groundbreaking and unique. We haven't had a chance to properly work together despite sharing classes, and I'm looking forward to us getting to know each other."

She didn't think it pertinent to mention that she was now also _really_ looking forward to spending time in his presence, a presence which was quickly turning into a distraction of epic proportions for her.

Theo stared at her a bit incredulously before replying sardonically, "I'm a Slytherin — which to you Gryffindor lot is synonymous with evil — have a Death Eater for a father, one that has _actually_ tried to injure you personally, not just theoretically. I can conjure up a variety of different reasons without even trying as to why you wouldn't have come… yet here you sit, welcoming me with smiles and offers of scholastic intrigue …" He broke off, shaking his head in almost warm befuddlement before continuing softly, eyes downcast to look at his clasped hands upon the table, "You should hate me, Granger, or at the very least, fear being near me."

She snorted at that and crossed her arms across her chest. The loudness of the inelegant sound was like canon fire in the still quietness of their alcove, and his eyes whipped up to catch and hold with hers at the sound.

"I'm sorry, Nott, but you'll be holding your breath if you think I _fear_ you. Believe me when I say, my boggart would _not_ be in your form." Her hand twitched under the table toward her left arm, where she could swear she felt the scar that lay under her shirt there burn.

"And you may be from the house of snakes," she continued, "but you're not exactly Kaa."

"Trussssst meeee," he hissed, drawing out his 's's and at that sound all at once her mind flashed back to Godrics Hollow and the reanimated corpse of Bathilda Bagshot. Her chest tightened and she felt all the warmth leave her, though gave no outward indication of her internal panic.

' _Clamp it down, Hermione. Lock it away. Not here._ ' Instead of succumbing to the memory and the physical manifestations her panic would assume lest she give it legs, she wrenched herself back to the present and focused on the captivating wizard in front of her.

"You know the reference?" Hermione gasped. She was surprised, as she didn't expect a wizard, let alone one raised in the house of a blood purist to know about muggle literature, nor understand an offhand reference to a background character.

He hadn't seemed to notice her momentary reaction at hearing his 'snake hiss', and seemed genuinely amused for a moment at having surprised her. The brightening of his eyes was short lived, however, before she visibly witnessed the shutters dropping back down. He gave a short derisive laugh and said in his typically clipped manner, annunciations crisp and proper, "If I were Kaa, if I were to hypnotize you, Hermione, bend your will to cage and keep you, I doubt you'd see it coming or even be aware enough to resist it…"

She looked at him — truly regarded him — taking in every detail and nuance about him in that moment. To hear her first name fall so freely from his lips, the first time he'd ever called her by it, made her feel all squiggly and warm inside.

She wanted to hear him say it again.

Silence stretched for what felt like ages as she perused him, before she straightened in her chair once more and addressed the big hippogriff in the room.

"You're right about one thing, Theodore Nott. I wouldn't see it coming, but only because it would be an action by you I'd never ever expect. We don't know enough about each other to make broad claims, but after observing you over the years, I'm quite convinced you are not as you'd wish others to believe you to be."

An eyebrow flicked at that, but otherwise he made no response or resection to her words.

"Let me ask you one question, the _only_ question that matters."

He tensed but nodded his acquiesce for her to continue.

"Do you believe in the whole blood purity nonsense? That I'm below you, because I'm a muggleborn? A mudblood?"

He flinched at the word, and spat, "Don't use _that_ word, it's vile and fundamentally untrue."

It was her turn to raise her eyebrows.

"No, I don't believe you're inferior, because of your blood or otherwise; nor do I think your blood's 'muddy' or contaminated. That concept's just absurd…" He paused, then said in a rush, "I do, however, take issue with Wizarding customs and traditions becoming obsolete or watered down — some of them at least — by those who are not given the proper induction and opportunity to learn our societal ways — such as muggleborns — because those of us in positions to offer the knowledge don't or won't. But that is an educational and cultural issue, not one about blood or superiority."

She kept silent at his revelations, wanting to think over his words more. Ron would be completely gobsmacked at her not charging ahead with an opinion, as she'd been want to do in the past. She realized, however, she didn't know enough about that which he spoke to comment at this time, but made note to do research into his claims of societal ignorance of inducted muggleborns.

"Well alright then," was what she said instead. "Fair enough."

Tentatively, she moved her hand so it was resting near his on the table, almost as if she was afraid he'd spook if she moved to close or quickly but wanting to show him tangibly how unafraid of him she truly was.

"Now to the rest of your points. Yes, you have a father who I'm greatly relieved will be spending his life rotting behind bars, paying for the atrocities he committed over the years. He represents everything I fought against, and everything I am is detestable, abhorrent to him. There would be no breaking that stalemate."

"No, I can't ever picture you and father seeing eye to eye on anything, let alone one of you surviving an encounter in a closed room."

"I can hold my own, I've done it before against his lot."she snapped, stung.

"You misunderstand me, Granger, I didn't mean _you'd_ be at the disadvantage. I believe he'd be the one to fall, as he likes to underestimated that which he considers prey. And you're no prey."

She inwardly preened at his compliment while sighing resignedly that he was back to using surnames, though knowing how the aristocracy were, utilizing given names was highly unusual upon first acquaintance. Even a tad gauche.

And Theo was anything but gauche, at least by her estimation. He always appeared so contained, so ridgidly composed that his slip moments before showed her — more than anything else — how nervous the conversation was making him.

She continued, "Yes, you are a Slytherin, I am a Gryffindor; however, we aren't constrained to live by what our house traits dictate us to be, and it's a good thing, because I really don't give a flying fig about what others think about me. Nor spend my time worrying about idle gossip, so if anyone questions who I choose to associate with, that's not something I expenditure energy caring about."

He snorted and raised an eyebrow, twisting his lips into a snarl of disgust that surprised her. Made her… saddened.

"Yes well, when your father is like mine, your house traits and the friends you cultivate are the only ones that matter, as does idle gossip and reputations."

"Good thing he's not around anymore then," she smirked defiantly, and was pleased to see his lips mirror the smirk back.

"Quite." He replied, and nudged her hand — his pinky sliding ever so gently against hers — before removing his hands from the tabletop and opening his notebook.

"So, partners?" She confirmed, holding out her hand for him to shake.

He took it without hesitation, and in that moment she knew blood really didn't matter to him.

"Partners," he said, and made as if to push his glasses back up his nose. Only, he wasn't wearing glasses; his hand movement becoming an awkward swipe up to push aside an errant strand of hair that'd fallen over his brow instead. He smiled a bit sheepishly, and she was heartened to notice a weight appeared to have been lifted off his shoulders. She realized with a start, one had.

The self doubt, over her becoming his partner — worry that she'd regret their association — was gone.

"So, partner mine." He said, reclining in his chair and crossing his arms over his chest in affected contemplation. The look he was giving her was positively devilish, and she felt the slow burn of anticipation begin to reignite. "I'm beyond intrigued… care to elaborate on how you've been observing me for years?"

oOo-xXx-oOo

 **A/N: thank you for all who've reviewed, followed or favorited this story! I'm glad you're enjoying it. I'll be posting a fancast on tumblr soon for this story. My Tumblr handle is: gidgit2you.**


	7. Chapter 7

**Legal: I own nothing.**

 **Chapter 7**

oOo-xXx-oOo

Hermione's cheeks flushed the most delightful shade when embarrassed, he realized, and Theo couldn't — nor did he wish to — avert his eyes at the captivating tableau in front of him. The halo of riotous curls framing her flushed face, the warm eyes that sparkled like onyx in the flickering lantern light, her lower lip a bright ruby red from where her teeth had worked it over.

In a word, she looked… ravished. His heart skipped a beat as affection and desire flooded through him, and it was all he could do to refrain from reaching across the table and being the one to lay claim to her appearance instead.

Over the years he'd witnessed her as she'd studied — in the library or in class — presenting in a similar fashion as she was now, with unruly hair, ink stained fingers and chewed lips from over-concentration; but never had he been afforded the view in such close proximity. He now delighted in noticing details such as a spattering of soft freckles that skimmed along her nose and upper cheeks, and how her left eye was larger than the right, but only slightly.

No one knew of his fascination with the witch in front of him. He'd been entranced by her for years —eons before the Yule ball, before it seemed the whole school had clued in to what he himself already had — but his captivation was not just of a physical nature. It had sprouted out of an admiration of her intelligence, her tenacity, her silvered tongue and her ability to give back as well as she got — and typically better — and had grown from there.

He'd been utterly besotted, and as his interest in her grew, he became extremely careful to lock it all away; back to the deepest recesses of his mind, lest that information fall upon the wrong ears or tongue.

Information was the highest form of currency in his world, and as such, he much preferred to play pauper whilst silently amassing his fortunes.

It had been one of his most closely guarded secrets — his fascination with the forbidden fruit — and it was only now, with the threat of Voldemort eliminated and his father removed from the equation, that he felt he could pursue her acquaintance.

Unashamedly and publicly.

To hear that she herself had been observing him, for years it seemed…

Well, it'd be a lie to pretend he was anything short of floored, extremely flattered, and desperate to hear more.

"Well, erm…" she shifted in her seat and let out a huff of what he assumed to be annoyance at having to actually answer. He wasn't polite enough to let the subject drop, and unlike Draco — who assumed the world hung on his every move and would have taken her interest as his due — Theo couldn't believe that _he_ had attracted her attention, nor retained it like she inferred. He craved to know why.

It wasn't like he stood out in a crowd. He made damn sure of that! And he'd never noticed her eyes linger on him except for once, in the library during fifth year, after the Ministry fiasco that had landed his father back in Azkaban for a stretch.

He'd felt her eyes, but not the accompanying looks of judgment, anger or disgust thrown by others. Just… eyes, quietly observing.

"You were always around," she was saying, "but, _not_ , not really. Part of the crowd that was usually at loggerheads with my mates and I, but never actively participating in the vile taunts and bullying, nor really even a spectator. You were an enigma, for… other reasons as well." She said.

He lifted an eyebrow, subtly prodding her to expound further.

"Other reasons?" He smirked, his left cheek dimpling ever so slightly. He wasn't prone to vanities, but he was very fond of the dimple and the effect it seemed to have on others when he chose to flash it.

She sighed, rolling her eyes at him in exasperation but continuing on none the less. He could have sworn he saw her stare momentarily at the dimple.

He desperately hoped so.

"The biggest reason is simple. You're smart, Nott. Like, _truly_ brilliant. I've seen you effortlessly master a spell or magical concept, sometimes even before me, and the look that comes over your eyes when you know the answer to a question is…" she broke off and gave a delicate cough, her cheeks flushing rouge once more. Biting her lip once more.

He desperately wished to know the cause of her blush, to know what caused her to clam up mid sentence. He wanted to be the one biting that lip, tasting the reddened flesh…

So focused was he on Hermione and his amorous thoughts, that he failed to acknowledge nor anticipate how perceptive a witch she was.

"Mostly, you defer." She replied, shrugging as if that explained it all. "That's why."

It was as if a bucket of ice had been turned upside down upon his head for how suddenly his flames of ardor were doused and his senses were springing to full alert.

"I defer, _what_ , exactly?" He asked, casually, as if her possible answer wasn't setting his teeth on edge. As if the fine hairs on the back of his neck, the ones that rose when he felt threatened, were _not_ currently standing at full attention.

She looked to be formulating her response carefully, deliberating internally before continuing without notice of his stilled, tensed, alert form.

"You just don't make sense. You constantly come in behind Malfoy and me for marks — even in the classes that he's not in I see you reign yourself back — when I believe you should be tied with me for class standing. But you never are, and I don't understand _why_ … yes Malfoy's intelligent, a fact he so proudly parades to all and sundry, but you… you seem to go _out_ of your way to downplay or redirect notice and others perceptions…"

She shrugged and opened the notebook in front of her to a fresh leaf of parchment while attempting to tuck a errant curl behind her left ear, without success.

"In any case," she huffed as the curl sprang loose and trailed up to rest near the corner of her eye once more, " _that's_ the main reason I've observed you for as long and as often… I don't like when something or some _one_ acts differently than they appear, or attempts to appear… it makes me unsettled. Twitchy. It's what makes me so adept at research, my tenacity to turn over rocks and uncover potential gems."

Theo sat back, completely unnerved.

' _Damn her and her perceptions_ ,' he thought, a chill seeping down his spine, through to the tips of his extremities.

"And you thought I might be a rock to overturn? That I might potentially house hidden gems?" He asked, in a very steady, very cautious tone. The tone that he rarely employed, the only tone that could make even Draco bestow respect and deference.

It appeared to have had no affect on the vexing witch in front of him.

"Potentially," she said thoughtfully and shrugged again, not seemingly aware of the undercurrents of tension emanating from him, or if she did; she was doing a smashing job of ignoring them completely.

"Have you mentioned these… thoughts, these conjectures, to anyone else?" Theo asked, employing all the years of pureblood training to mask his unease and dread.

She gave a short laugh and he realized belatedly why.

"Who would I tell, Nott? Honestly! I can just imagine the sort of conversation this would have stirred up had I mentioned my continued observations of you to either Ron or Harry."

She raised her voice mockingly and said, _'Hello boys.. erm, so I noticed Nott refusing to raise his hand in class today, even though I know he knew the answer! I saw him mouthing it. It's the third time he's done that this week. Malfoy even copies off his parchments and still Nott acts like he's the one struggling with the concepts, not other way round. Care to weigh in?'_

"No, Nott," she said, voice returning to her normal pitch and tone, "that would not have gone over well at all. Tact and discretion are not their strongest attributes, lets just leave it at that."

"Red and gold to the core," Theo said dryly, and she nodded ruefully.

"Indeed," she replied, flicking the quill she'd picked up from the table around and through her fingers. Around and around she spun it, threading it through and around her nimble fingers, and Theo stared at the movement almost hypnotized as he attempted to organize his thoughts.

He was still reeling from her admission and he needed to regroup. He could feel years of underlying anxieties and fears attempting to creep past his occlumency shields, threading around looking for cracks.

It was extremely rare that he was taken by surprise, he prided himself on being constantly aware and unflappable in any and all situations; and in a heartbeat she'd bloody well thrown him from a soaring dragon without a wand or a hope.

Her perceptions had not just nicked the surface of his mask, they had fully fucking penetrated. Her perceptions had released his careful grasp upon his sensibilities, there were now too many emotions swirling, becoming overwhelming. He was furious, proud, confused, hell, even pleased that he'd held captive her notice for what appeared to be years but dammit! He wasn't good at processing emotional volatility, nor could he stand being vulnerable.

Never had, which was why…

 _'No Theo! Focus! Don't go opening doors that should remain closed_!' He ordered himself, and dragged his consciousness back to the currently distressing information she'd just disclosed.

The tight control over his emotions, over his tongue snapped. Years of self discipline, eviscerated in his mounting panic; cracks were beginning to form in his mental shields, allowing sands of anxieties to pour through like they would a sieve. He couldn't stop himself from fearing the what-ifs, fearing the potential of all his past discretions and machinations to have been for nought had she been too obvious in her observations or vocal in her deductions.

He'd been so careful.

How could she, of all people, have seen through his mask?

Had others?

"Do you have _any_ idea, Granger, what could have happened had anyone noticed you staring? Or figured out that which you had?" He growled, low and tense. His tone was so unlike any he'd used with her previously that Hermione's eyes widened like saucers and her mouth gapped before his words appeared to penetrate past her immediate shock.

He'd give her this, she didn't shrink away from his outburst, instead meeting him with fire of her own.

Even through the mounting haze of oppressing panic, he admired how glorious she was in her indignation.

Her lips thinned, her jaw bone slid forward obstinately and her eyes narrowed.

"Please give me _some_ credit Nott!" She spat condescendingly. "I'm not an imbecile. It wasn't like I sat there mooning over you like a starving man does a leg of lamb. You weren't even _aware_ of my scrutiny for Merlin's sake, and I know Slytherins pride themselves on being aware of their surroundings; so I obviously _do_ know something about subtlety, about how to avoid detection and attention, _thank_ you."

He made to speak but she cut him off, saying more gently this time, "Of _course_ I thought of how it'd look, should anyone wish to notice. It would have been my neck, not yours, that would have been socially slit; I the societal interloper, you a member of established society. Can you imagine the gossip? A mudblood eye-stalking one of the heirs of the sacred twenty-eight… It wouldn't have been tolerated by your ilk, and most surely would have had me horribly mocked if not worse."

She laughed humorlessly, looking saddened and stung — either by the truth of her last statement or the impact of his previous words — and his heart clenched momentarily at having hurt her by his accusations but still too unnerved to respond with any rationality or logic. He didn't even correct her again her use of his most detested word, his mind was so frazzled.

"Not that I gave a toss about others opinions of me. Gave that up years ago. Had to for my own sanity…"

"I just…" he began but faltered, raking his hands through his hair, adding to his look of utter dishevelment.

Hermione peered at him and Theo watched as she seemed to realize how _not_ ok he was in this moment.

"Theo?" She said softly. Gently, like how one would approach a wounded animal. "What has you so…?" She began but something stopped her and he was pretty certain it was whatever was currently displaying itself upon his face. He didn't like feeling out of control, it'd been years since he'd felt the ground shift below him as it was now. Since cracks had even attempted to permeate his occlumency shields.

Gone was the confident, collected Theo of earlier that evening. In his place sat a rapidly unraveling pureblood on the verge of a panic attack. Something he hadn't suffered from in years.

He didn't even get to relish hearing his given name upon her tongue, said so softly, a gentle caress of the word. He was too entrenched in needing to escape.

Hermione's warm chocolate eyes were staring at him now in surprise and wariness — along with something indiscernible — and he knew he needed to leave before he cocked things up, exposed himself further. Needed to get away from her perceptiveness and _niceness_ … somewhere he could breathe.

"I have to go," he said, and flicked his wrist to secure his belongings back into his bag before hoisting it to his shoulder.

"I'm glad we're partners, Hermione, _truly_. But I… I have to…"

"Go," she whispered, waving toward from which he'd come, and the speculative contemplation upon her face did nothing to appease his feeling of of icy panic making its way through his veins.

He turned and hurried from the alcove — an ' _I'm sorry_ ' upon his lips — thankful it was after curfew and no one was there to witness the inelegant way he fled her presence. As he made his way briskly towards the double doors that would lead him from the library and out into the chilled corridors — their lanterns dimmed low and casting long shadows that danced upon the stone floor — he realized he'd slipped again.

He'd performed wandless magic, for the second time in two days, without thought to exposure.

Two times in two days after having gone three years undetected without a slip. Without even the slightest possibility of making one.

'Fuck, fuck, FUCK!' He roared, and kicked at the stone wall beside him in frustration and self loathing.

"Well I never!" Said the elderly matron in the portrait above where he'd just kicked. "No respect for —"

"Oh, just shut it." Snarled Theo to the old hag, who clutched her neckline tight and gasped as he turned and stalked off towards the corridor that led down to the dungeons. As his toe throbbed nastily inside his shoe, Theo worked to stem the severity of the inevitable panic attack by undertaking the task of reshelving and archiving his thoughts and memories behind his typically impermeable occlumency shields once more.


	8. Chapter 8

**Legal: I Own Nothing.**

 **A/N: A big heartfelt THANK YOU to all who've reviewed, favorited or followed this story!**

 **Chapter 8**

oOo-xXx-oOo

"What's this?" Hermione asked, palming the piece of parchment covered in neatly scrawled markings Theo handed her as she left the Great Hall following breakfast the next morning.

He'd been standing against the wall opposite the double doors, arms crossed, one leg braced back against the stone, uniform and hair all tucked-and-tidy as per his norm. The epitome of relaxed and vibrating ennui.

She'd noticed him immediately as she'd left the hall and, upon catching sight of her, Theo'd pushed off and headed directly toward her, his unfettered gaze never wavering from her face. He'd silently handed her the parchment now grasped in her grip, and currently stood before her shifting minutely from foot to foot.

' _He's… nervous_ ," she thought, and her heart did a silly little flip.

"I'm not good with apologies, Granger," Theo answered, "Draco and Blaise can attest to that." He shoved his hands in his trouser pockets and hunched his shoulders inward — only just — but she noticed.

' _He's adorable when he's nervous_ ,' she mused.

"Allllright….?" Hermione drew out, pursing her lips as she thoughtfully scrutinized him. He looked hopeful yet shuttered; thoroughly knackered — his eyes rimmed by insomniac charcoal — and she wondered at his methods of coping. They all had their ways, some more effective than others…

' _He really doesn't have anything to apologize for, save for berating me like an errant child whose hand was caught in the candy_ _jar_ …" she thought.

"What do you think?" Theo asked, nodding at what he'd handed her, and she was struck by how vulnerable he appeared beneath his typical veneer of aristocratic aloofness.

Like what he'd presented her, mattered.

Hermione regarded the parchment, and a warmth spread through her as she grasped not only the words but the significance of them. As she continued to read, she felt bubbles of mirth simmer in her throat, her tongue the cork preventing them from erupting into inappropriately timed peals of laughter.

Oh, this mattered _quite_ a bit indeed.

He'd mapped out suggestions for their final project, and not just an itemized list of thoughts or ideas. No, that would have been too pedantic for Theo.

Instead, along with the multitude of impressive suggestions, he'd also gone and added for each the pros and cons, estimated completion time, level of difficulty and whether or not their efforts could benefit wizarding society or solely the significant grade boost.

And she thought _her_ efforts marked the top of the swot barometer.

Astounded couldn't even begin to describe how she felt in that moment, skimming over his efforts.

"This must have taken you _ages_." Hermione breathed. "Did you get _any_ sleep last night, Nott?"

"Some," Theo said, with a bite of finality tempered with a slight smile. She knew that tone intimately, and knew ' _some_ ' meant hours spent awake attempting sleep before giving up and lying there with eyes closed.

"If this is your form of apologizing…" Hermione murmured, reaching out to briefly lay her hand on his arm. She felt a shudder run through him at her touch, and her own fingers tingled at the contact as she let her hand drop. "Apology _definitely_ accepted. Though not _entirely_ needed."

Theo opened his mouth to speak but Hermione held up a hand to forestall his words. "I'd appreciate it though, if you'd be less of a berk the next time you wish to call my discretion or judgements into question. That, I _wasn't_ too impressed with." She gave him a pointed look.

"Erm….Right." He nodded, looking somewhat abashed, and Hermione bit the inside of her cheek to keep from laughing. Sometimes boys were so oblivious. He was obviously pants at _verbal_ apologies, but in the essence of the action itself… he could definitely write instruction pamphlets on the subject.

"Well… regardless." Theo scratched the back of his head and looked down at her through eyes framed in slumberless soot. "I couldn't sleep so figured I'd best put my mind to good use. I know it's only _just_ start of term but why not get an early jump on it, figure out our angle."

"And this is why we'll make a great team." She said with a chuckle, returning his parchment so she could rummage around in her bag.

"After you ran out on me last night, I put together a list of my own, though nowhere _near_ to the level of intricate detail yours is." Hermione shook her head and laughed earnestly; Theo raising a well-maintained eyebrow in obvious curiosity.

"Harry and Ron would be beside themselves with glee at seeing me out-swotted, and on the first day at that." She explained, teeth flashing, and all but shoved her list at him in excitement.

Theo took it, their fingers touching, and gave it a once over, both eyebrows raising slightly. A slow whistle leaked out from between his full lips, and eyes dancing with intrigue raised up to meet her own.

"And I thought _I_ was ambitious, Granger," he smirked. "Some of these are downright _Masters_ material. I'm impressed."

She shrugged, though inwardly glowed at being praised for her ambition rather than fielding groans about extra work and lack of free time. "It's not like yours are anything to scoff at either."

Realizing they'd been standing outside the Great Hall for quite some time, she glanced around at the nearly deserted corridor, registering the increasing silence as footsteps and voices melted away down distant corridors and stair cases.

"Oh for the love of… we're going to be _late_!" She shrieked, and snatched both lists from Theo's hands, carefully but swiftly placing them safely in her bag before all but sprinting toward their first Transfiguration lesson.

"Thank Morgana this years classroom's in the south tower and all the way up on the 9th floor. Not _too_ far away." Theo cheeked as they sprinted, knowing it was in fact the farthest of their core classes from the Great Hall.

As the two of them hurried up the staircase that wound up the south tower, Hermione wrestled up the courage to say quietly, "Just so you know, Nott, I get them too."

Theo slid his eyes sideways, though his face remained placid. "Get what Granger?"

"Panic attacks." She said baldly, and as storm clouds began to descend upon his features, Hermione hurriedly added, "There's nothing to be ashamed about. You're not alone in suffering…"

Theo growled, cutting her off and increasing his speed, leaving her trailing behind on the breeze of "you don't know _anything_ , Granger."

 _'Well that went well._ ' She sighed, dejection slowing her pace slightly. She should have known blurting it out would be a mistake; years spent in the close friendship of two boys had taught her the essence of stealthy prodding and subtle lead-ins. But seeing Theo last night, the desperation in his eyes and the frantic nature of his actions… she only wanted to help.

' _One step forward, three back,_ '

She knew all to well how deep the claws of panic could sink into the soul, sending one spiraling yet trapped in invisible thread, and the hours — sometimes days — it took to recover. To feel even a shred of normalcy; or at the very least, the summoning strength to act as such. She knew how triggers could be completely random, unpredictable, yet incredibly debilitating; and that no one had the right to judge another for suffering them.

Anxiety didn't discriminate; old, young, well-off or knut-pinching. _None_ were exempt from panic's potential clutches.

Everyone who'd returned to Hogwarts had endured hell and hardships, regardless if their endurances and experiences of hell and hardships differed.

They were still all victims _and_ survivors in the same breath; children fighting as indoctrinated pawns in adult wars they had no business being integrated in.

Hitching her bag more securely upon her shoulder, she entered the transfiguration classroom a few moments after Theo. The new Professor had her back turned and was writing on the blackboard at the front of the class. Hermione silently slid into the vacant seat near the front next to Eloise Midgen — who shot her an incredulous look she assumed was due to her tardiness — and hoped to Merlin that she wouldn't be called out or lose house points.

Theo had made his way to the rear row of tables, sitting down near the left side of the room between Malfoy and Daphne Greengrass; an arresting willow of a girl whose pores oozed propriety, pedigree and poise.

The professor finished writing, placed the chalk in the holder and turned toward the class. Raising her hands for silence, Hermione was surprised at how young she appeared. She had the indeterminable ageless quality of someone carrying a tad more weight than her frame intended — though her well-tailored robes flattered her girth instead of emphasizing it — and her above-average height, heavy lidded eyes and full cheeks in combination with the two twinkling and jeweled hair clips sweeping her hair back off her forehead could have placed her anywhere from maybe a few years ahead of those she now taught, to a woman in her mid-forties.

"Welcome welcome." She said, in clipped tones with an underlying inflection harkening to a county of Northern European origin; the edgy, heavy brusqueness at odds with her youthful appearance. "My name is Griselda Blishen, and I'll be your Transfiguration teacher for the year."

She ran her gaze over the eighth year student conglomerate and announced, "To those who just slunk in, I'll give you leave this once. Come in late again, and it'll be points. Third time, points _and_ detention. There will _not_ be a fourth time."

Silence met her laconic announcement, and she gave a nod in apparent satisfaction at their acquiescence and understanding; or, at the very least, to their silence. As she made her way down from the raised blackboard platform and toward the front row, she smiled, and the transformation was astounding.

Professor Blishen's austere countenance of moments before was transformed into that of delight and the smile lines etched into the fleshy skin around her eyes deepened, giving her eyelids the appearance of having whiskers. As she walked along the front row, Hermione could see a shimmer around the Professor's middle; a shimmer almost indistinguishable from the air around it.

Curious, she observed Professor Blishen as she outlined the syllabus for the year, and was so focused that she didn't even bother to write down the Professor's opening remarks as was her usual fashion. Instead, Hermione studied the movement of the Professor's hands and arms to determine where the visual disturbance was concentrated, though Hermione wasn't able to set her sights on it long enough to determine its origin before it became elusive once more. Frustrated, and wanting to know more, Hermione's hand shot in the air. Professor Blishen's monologue cut off abruptly.

' _Apparently question period hasn't begun yet,"_ thought Hermione.

"Yes, miss…"

"Granger, Professor Blishen. Hermione Granger." She said, lowering her hand.

"You have a question, Miss Granger?" Professor Blishen asked politely, but with a contemplative, calculating lens to her glance and her tone infused with expectancy.

"Erm, yes," replied Hermione, ready to bluster out — like years past — her typical demands of knowing what and why there was something… atypical, surrounding her Professor. However, just before the words vomited out from between her lips, she caught sight of Theo out of her peripheral vision and she could see him minutely shake his head.

At her.

Turning her gaze the tiniest smidgen in his direction so she could be sure of his nods intended recipient, she saw him repeat his slight motion, his eyes solely upon Hermione.

Her original words shriveled upon her tongue and she blurted the first thing that sprang to mind in their absence.

"Are you related to the manufacturers of 'Blishen's Fire Cinnamon Flavoured Whisky' by chance?" She asked without pause, as if that was the question she'd originally intended to ask.

The Professor gazed at Hermione speculatively for a beat before seeming to shake herself from her contemplation.

"Why _yes_ I am Miss Granger, although that branch of the family and mine had an unfortunate falling out years back." She smiled again, though this time the smile fell distinctly short of her eyes. "I wasn't aware that wizards, _especially_ students, were familiar with that… brand…" she trailed off, pursed her lips while gazing speculatively once more at Hermione — who'd adopted her most innocent and eager bookworm facade — before returning to her instruction on that day's lesson.

After a surreptitious glance around the room at her peers, it seemed no one was any the wiser to the undercurrents of the exchange between Hermione and their new Professor. Save for Theo, and another set of eyes off to his right.

Hermione breathed a sigh of relief when Professor Blishen moved on from her focused perusal of her person, and subtly caught Theo's eye once more. Her face must have conveyed its confusion as to what had just transpired, for he mouthed 'later' through barley moving lips.

 _'A Slytherin acquaintance, an intriguing final project, and a suspicious professor,_ ' she thought with bemusement as she began writing down the lesson notes for review later, _'I imagine this will be far from the low-key year filled with normalcy and calm that Professor McGonagall had envisioned.'_


	9. Chapter 9

**Legal: I own nothing.**

 **Chapter 9**

oOo-xXx-oOo

The rest of the day passed rather uneventfully, and before she realized it, Hermione found herself walking alongside Neville, Dean and Seamus toward the Great Hall for supper. The rest of their year was further ahead of the foursome in the corridor, a sea of black robes interspersed with smattering of yellow, blue and green. She caught a glimpse of Malfoy's platinum hair up ahead and the smooth elegance of Zabini's saunter, but couldn't make out Theo's silhouette amid the surrounding students. With a pang, she remembered he'd been the first one out of class, with not even a glance in her direction. Instead, she'd been subjected to a somewhat appraising glance by Malfoy and a look by Greengrass that could only be described as aggressively protective.

She tried to tell herself it wasn't disappointment she felt at his obvious avoidance, nor uneasy by his friends appraisals, but even her subconscious couldn't be fooled. She'd just have to bide her time until he'd be receptive to her approach, less defensive.

The corridor was filled with the murmur of voices and the echoes of shoes slapping on stone as the eighth years made their way to the main floor, and Hermione found she was besieged with questions from the three male Gryffindors.

"What do you _mean_ you've already found a partner?" Said Seamus incredulously, his brow furrowing in confusion. "Bimey, Hermione, it's only been a day! I knew you were keen…"

"What's not to get," Hermione interjected blandly. "I say I have a partner, I have a partner. First day or not. And for the record, they asked _me_!"

 _'It's like bloody fourth year all over again!'_ She thought a tad sourly. _"Still no one believes me when I say I'm already partnered…"_

"But what about us, Hermione?" Neville asked somewhat nervously, motioning to himself, Seamus and Dean. "There's four of us returning Gryffindors, surely you'd have wanted to pair with _one_ of us…"

"Or did you partner with Ginny?" asked Dean with casual cheerfulness, giving no indication whatsoever of there being any residual awkwardness felt toward his ex-girlfriend. Hermione was secretly pleased, for as much as she liked Dean, she didn't see him being a long term romantic match for her stalwart and fiery friend.

 _'Come to think of it, I don't really see Harry being the best match for her either…'_ she thought with a twinge of sadness, and what felt like betrayal to her best friends.

"Oh come _off_ it you three!" Hermione replied, fighting exasperation. They were _adults_ now for Godric's sake, and could venture out past the confines of their house affiliations. They'd fought a war to ensure that!

"Neville," she said, turning toward her friend, "I'd rather have thought you'd want to partner with someone who shared some of your _own_ interests. Someone, perchance, that you could target combining the fundamentals of Herbology and Potions with?"

Neville's cheeks reddened as she finished, in a tone free of guile, "Someone possibly in… Hufflepuff?"

She saw his eyes dart briefly toward the group of black and yellow clad students up ahead and knew she'd hit her mark.

"And you two," she said, motioning between Dean and Seamus, "I would have thought you'd jump at the chance to work together… I'd have thought you were already partnered, despite it being _first day and all_?"

Seamus's boisterous charm abruptly morphed into a dour countenance, and she heard vague mutterings whispered below his breath. Dean shook his head at Seamus, and replied bemusedly, "its a long story…"

"Not that long," grumbled Seamus, shoving his hands grumpily in his pockets, "he just thinks it's better if we partner as McGonagall says, is all… separate house or year and all that rubbish."

"S'not like I'm saying 'go and get a new mate' now Seamus," said Dean exasperatedly. "It's just a ruddy project…"

The two continued bickering, and Hermione chuckled at Seamus's continued pout, Dean's increasing annoyance, and Neville's preoccupation with the Hufflepuffs. As they descended the last stair and rounded the corner into the corridor leading to the Great Hall, Hermione spotted Ginny and Luna and, with a hasty goodbye to the boys, made her way over to join her two friends; all thoughts of Dean's expressions and muted mutterings forgotten.

oOo-xXx-oOo

"How're you finding this years classes?" Hermione asked Ginny, as they made their way up to the joint common room following dinner. Luna'd said she'd meet up with them later that evening; not volunteering what she was doing in the meantime.

"They're alright," shrugged Ginny. "Better than last year, that's for certain! A bit slow going, being second day and all… though I assume it'll get more interesting and intense soon enough, especially since it's NEWTS. I'm looking forward to Runes and Potions, and charms of course."

"Me too," Echoed Hermione, for Ginny'd just listed off her own favorite subjects as well. Thinking about Potions, her mind trailed to Professor Slughorn and she said, "I wonder if Professor Slughorn will continue with his Slugclub dinners now that Harry's no longer a student?"

"Not sure," said Ginny, frowning slightly. "In a way, it was nice to be included in his bubble of esteem, however…" she broke off, looking slightly uncomfortable.

"The dinners _were_ sycophantic and tedious as all get out," Hermione stated. She really didn't agree, despite being one of those selected, with the fawning and elevating of various students over others simply because the Professor deemed them a potential beneficial future connection. "But some weren't completely unbearable! I actually enjoyed a few...well, more than a few. Though _never_ tell Ron that, he'd take the piss! And, seeing as we're entering the Wizarding world as full-blown adults next year; it wouldn't hurt to have a few contacts and exposure…"

"Exposure that's not tied to winning wars and knowing the 'Chosen One' you mean," said Ginny softly, guilt saturating her statement; guilt that overflowed onto Hermione, despite knowing the truthfulness of Ginny's words. Harry couldn't help the power that fame afforded him and the fallout for those close to him; but none of them — including Harry — wanted handouts without earning them, nor to be held atop of pedestals.

"Slughorn wanted me in his previous club for _my_ abilities alone, not because of my ties to Harry." Ginny continued. "I want my abilities to get me ahead; not have doors open because of who I've dated."

"Dated?" Asked Hermione quietly. They hadn't talked yet about the awkwardness she'd witnessed at the station, she hadn't wanted to pry. Past experience taught her it was best to wait until it was brought up in conversation.

"Dated, dating, I'm not really sure… things are right confusing at the moment. I'm not sure Harry even knows what he wants, now that the war is over and his life and soul are completely his own." Ginny stopped walking and deflated against the wall, Hermione standing beside her with concern etched upon her brow.

"To be honest, I don't even know what _I_ want anymore Hermione," Ginny said, looking at Hermione though bleak eyes. "For so long, all I had eyes for, all that I envisioned… it was always Harry. And now…" she broke off and looked down the corridor, her eyes seemingly vacant of their current surrounding and instead appearing introspective.

Hermione knew Ginny had pined for Harry for years before they'd dated, and the time they'd spent together, though short, had seemed to encapsulate the pinnacle of every teenage dream Ginny's younger heart had held. Had envisioned. Her and Ginny had spent countless hours chatting, crying and giggling over their individual infatuations and romantic dramas during Hermione's sixth year, but those hours were of a different time. A time before the war crescendoed, their cloaks of youth torn apart by grief and bloodshed, and they were reborn from the ashes of their past.

Enduring what all of them had that year changed a person, and so Hermione wasn't at all surprised to hear that both her friends now appeared to be struggling with their new realities and potentially separate aspirations.

She knew that on the career front, Ginny had her heart set on becoming a professional quidditch player, and for that she'd need sponsors and to capture the eye of scouts. It could take years to achieve — securing a professional league slot and not just a position on the community ale league — cultivating the right introductions and building a network.

Or, it could take a singular spectacular event thrown by their professor, such as the one two years prior at Yule tide.

An event like that one was the perfect opportunity to bring together all of Professor Slughorn's little marionettes — both past and present — to rub elbows and exchange pleasantries and professional inquiries. For all his pompous bluster and elitist favoritism, it count be argued that Horace Slughorn was indeed a good person to have in your corner.

"You don't have to decide anything right now Gin. Work for what you want, and maybe the physical distance will bring clarity to both you and Harry…"

Hermione sincerely hoped this would prove true; she didn't want either of them feeling trapped in a relationship out of duty or nostalgia. She cared too much about both of them to see either of them suffer the fate Ron and her had thankfully escaped this summer, if they decided they weren't a fit anymore.

"How're head duties?" Hermione asked as they began waking again, changing the subject to a more neutral topic. They were in the third floor corridor now and were approaching the statue marking the entrance to their new common room.

Ginny's face flushed and a flicker of apology trickled across her features.

"They're going… really well." Ginny said, her slight smile full of contentment and pride, though her eyes wouldn't meet Hermione's. After a somewhat awkward pause, she carried on hurriedly, "I _am_ sorry, you know. We haven't really talked about this, and I know you've always wanted this position; but so have I, though I never told anyone about it since we'd all taken the piss out of Percy. I didn't even think I stood a _chance_ after…" she broke off. "…Well, a chance. I even tried turning it down, but Professor McGonagall wouldn't hear of it…"

"Oh Ginny," Hermione cut her off, waving her hand dismissively. "She was right. You deserve the position and will do a wonderful job."

Ginny threw her a challenging glare and Hermione sighed, huffing, "Well I'm not going to lie and say I wasn't disappointed! Honestly, when I found out I wasn't even eligible for the badge, I was livid. But now that I'm back here, I know it was for the best. I'm perfectly fine with how things played out."

"But… this was your dream," whispered Ginny, still looking unconvinced.

Hermione shrugged, "Dreams change. _People_ , change."

As they neared the statue, Hermione inquired about the Head Boy, someone she'd never met before; someone who'd be spending a lot of time alone with her close friend.

She was curious, and only slightly wary, but not because of his house affiliation…

"Luna was right about Terrance" Ginny said with a grin, seemingly happier since discussing the role of Head girl. "He's quiet, not a tosser like some of his ilk, and he seems to want to make a good impression… Don't think I'll have much issue, if any, with him this year."

She slid her eyes sideways, "It doesn't hurt that he's not a burden on the eyes neither." She let her eyebrows dance up and down as her lips curled into a dreamy smirk, causing Hermione to burst into laughter.

Hermione was pleased to see the spark she knew all too well rekindle in her friend's eyes, and she peppered Ginny with questions the rest of the way to the common room; all the while her mind straying to another, another who could burden _her_ eyes any time he wished.

oOo-xXx-oOo

When she and Ginny arrived at the statue, they gave the password and entered the short stone passageway that led into the room. The sight before them as they entered had them halting abruptly, and Hermione instantly felt comfortable as she took in their surroundings.

The room was large, but not cavernous, with vaulted ceilings, and gleaming stone floors. Four ornately carved stone fireplaces — two per side — sat on the walls flanking a series of oversized, lead-paned windows spanning the length of the wall parallel to the entrance. Windows that offered a stunning view of the lake and in the very distance, the faint outline of Hogsmeade.

The decor was a hodgepodge of the various house colors, though done up in a manner that created a soothing, balanced atmosphere. Not one that extolled visions of carnivals and children's care centers. The decorative style of furnishings seemed to have come from a sole time period, lending cohesion to what could have quickly become visual vomit, and throughout the room were interspersed vignettes of either soft cozy seating or sturdy work surfaces for studying.

Black fabrics of differing textures along with antique walnut set the predominate tones, with subtleties of gold, silver and bronze found in decorative inlays and ornamental accents of the various wood and stone furniture and fixtures. Each house appeared equally represented, whether in the melange of blues and greens of the area rugs, to the canary and cardamon damask drapes; a balance achieved with colorful focal points and artwork that assisted to create a pleasant and welcoming environment for all.

"This is —" Hermione began.

"Gorgeous!" Breathed Ginny, and the two looked at each other with a grin.

They noticed Neville, Dean and Seamus, along with other eighth year DA members lounging near the fire closest to the door. Ginny waved and began to head over.

"Gin! Hold up. Why don't we go sit over there and catch up proper? I have something to tell you…" Hermione said, pointing to a vacant set of plush oversized loungers near a fireplace furthest from the entrance.

"Alright," said Ginny, flashing Hermione an easy grin, and changed course, heading in the direction Hermione'd pointed. As they walked across the room, Hermione noticed the grouping of Slytherins adjacent to the seats her and Ginny were planning to occupy. The Slytherins were holding court over the grouping of oversized chairs and sofas nearest the bank of windows, taking advantage of their backs predominantly shielded either by stone or by glass.

 _'I wonder if they prefer their backs to glazing instead of fire_ ,' she mused, thinking how cold and sterile stone and glass seemed, then cringed when she realized that, for at least two of their number, they probably would prefer _anything_ to fire…

"Why are a bunch of the Slytherins staring at you Hermione?" Asked Ginny as they made their way across the room. "Did something go down in class? Is this what you have to tell me?" Hermione swivelled her gaze toward the gaggle of silver and green and saw Zabini, Malfoy and Greengrass all staring at her with various expressions.

"Somewhat," she replied vaguely.

Theo, she was relived to see, was seated beside Malfoy, but unlike his fair friend, hadn't raised his eyes from the book currently claiming his attention. Though, upon closer inspection, she realized she'd yet to see him turn a page since she'd looked in their direction; his hand was stilled, his posture slightly more ridged.

' _Interesting_ ,' she thought, reflectively.

Ignoring the other two staring serpents, she met Malfoy's eyes and gave a curt nod along with a raised eyebrow. She felt a sense of satisfaction fill her when a flicker of curiosity, suspicion and — ' _was that approval_?' — flittered across his face before smoothing once more into placidity. As she lowered herself into the seat nearest the fire — allowing her a decent view of the room as well as entrance — she saw him lean over and whisper something in Theo's ear, causing Theo's lips to twist and his eyes to raise and lock with hers.

She held his gaze as she replied, "Not class per say, It all began on the train…" And with that she filled Ginny in on everything that had transpired over the previous two days between her and Theo.

oOo-xXx-oOo

 **A/N: To everyone reading, reviewing, following and favoriting this story, I thank you! Your words and interest warm my heart! I sincerely thank you!**


	10. Chapter 10

**Legal: I own nothing**

 **Chapter 10**

oOo-xXx-oOo

"I do believe the catalyst of your sour disposition has made an appearance. Let the fireworks begin." Draco drawled into Theo's ear, causing his lips to twist as he raised his eyes to where Draco subtly indicated.

His eyes met and held with Granger's as she exchanged a few words with the youngest Weasley. He felt the mounting tension inside him sag without the weight of her gaze when she broke the connection, and he released the breath he hadn't been aware of holding.

He hadn't needed Draco's observation. He'd been conscious of her presence the moment she'd stepped foot in the common room. He'd been surreptitiously glancing at the entrance every time he heard the whoosh and clunk that announced a new arrival, and felt a jolt of disappointment each time it was another student, rather than the one he sought. Theo'd been browsing through the book on his lap whilst listening to the chatter of his housemates around him when he'd heard the inner door open and close and he'd seen her from beneath his lashes.

"Oh, bugger off Draco," Theo said, qwithout malice. He'd been expecting a comment such as this since lunch, and was relieved that at least Draco had employed discretion in his observation. None of the others around them appeared to have heard his comment.

Arriving late to transfiguration with Granger in tow and an atypically obvious chip upon his shoulder, he'd had mere seconds to wrangle his emotions back behind his occlumency walls before he'd sat down between Draco and Daphne. Neither were the wiser as to how disconcerted and embarrassed he'd felt at Granger offering _sympathies_. As if he deserved them…

Instead, he merely appeared cross and annoyed.

Daphne had taken one look at his face and had promptly sent her trademark glare toward Granger. For her part, Granger merely firmed her jaw and straightened her posture. She didn't cower or wilt under the intensity of Daphne's withering gaze. Theo would have been surprised if Hermione cowered to anything after last year…

Most would infer from Daphne's protective behavior that emotions simmered between the two Slytherins expanding beyond mere friendship.

They would be partly correct.

If Theo were to classify his feelings toward Daphne, however, it'd be as a sister or cousin, not potential lover. To his knowledge, she hadn't felt romantic inclinations toward him either, typically treating him in similar fashion to her younger sister; with exasperation, tolerance and a fierce protectiveness.

She was as close to him — the real him — as he'd allowed anyone to be, for she'd known him before his mother's… accident. Though even Daphne hadn't glimpsed the man who'd grown behind his carefully crafted mask; the mask he was slowly, intentionally, removing. Piece by piece.

Draco, who'd always delighted in mocking and commenting on the Gryffindor trio when Weasley and Potter attended Hogwarts, had been noticeably silent when his slate eyes had absorbed Theo's tardy appearance and the expression on Granger's face and the clench of her jaw. Theo'd been thankful that despite Draco's uncanny ability to read between the lines and infer what others would overlook, he'd resisted commenting or pestering Theo about it.

At first.

Draco'd merely raised a groomed pale eyebrow in Theo's direction, flicked his eyes toward Granger, and then silently appraised them both during lessons. It was only later, in the Great Hall at lunch, that he'd cornered him and pounced.

oOo-xXx-oOo

"Was it a coincidence that both you and Granger were tardy for class? Or was _she_ the reason you barreled in looking as if you ate something rotten?" Draco said, as if discussing the banalities of the weather.

Theo glanced sharply at Draco, to determine how much to reveal, how much would be sufficient in light of their midnight conversation.

Seeing as they were surrounded by the rest of their peers, Theo concluded surface level information the most appropriate.

"Not coincidence, though rotten would be quite stretching things." Theo paused, then, ripping the bandaid off, stated confidently, "I asked her to be my partner for the final project."

His statement had the anticipated effect amongst those around him who'd heard.

Greg looked at him, mouth agape and his brow furrowed in incredulity. Whether that was due to Theo's willingness to converse with a Gryffindor, a muggleborn or the simple fact of her being female, Theo wasn't certain.

Daphne looked pensive. She gnawed on the corner of her lip — a habit her mother had been attempting unsuccessfully for years to dissuade her of — in contemplation and stared at him with thoughtful reflection.

Pansy glanced at him, shaking her head while raising her arms saying, "Not my sanatorium, not my kneazles… If you want to court fleas, Nott, be my guest."

He bared his teeth in a mockery of a smile. She wasn't able to conceal her flinch at his frosty tone and frostier eyes as he replied, "Check yourself, Parkinson. It is by the grace of others you're even allowed back here, hers being one of them. Best remember that."

Her reference to fleas and the inference that Granger was still below them in pecking order chafed at him, and he looked challengingly at both Draco and Blaise.

"You lot take issue with who I deign associate with?" He asked imperiously.

Blaise regarded him with an imperious scrutiny before shrugging, shaking his head as he returned to his food, his disinterest in the entire situation distinctly clear.

Draco looked about to verbalize a thought, but surprised Theo once more by remaining mute and instead merely looking, if anything, slightly disappointed.

"I guess that means I'll be stuck with Zabini here, seeing as you've gone and secured yourself the only other person who'll actually do their share of the work."

That was all. No reference to mud, scum, or filth; directly or implied.

Instead, a veiled compliment.

Theo breathed a sigh of relief, for it appeared as though Draco'd taken Theo's words from their first night back seriously.

Blaise looked vaguely amused at being regarded as Draco's consultation prize, and nipped that thought effectively in the bud.

" _Deepest_ apologies Malfoy," he drawled, dabbing at the corners of his lips with a napkin, "but you'll have to make due with another peon as my sights are set elsewhere…" He didn't expound upon where in fact they'd been set. Theo hid a grin as Blaise resumed eating, his table manners exquisite as he had fluidly sliced up his roast and sipped at his pumpkin juice.

At Blaise's casual dismissal, Draco became instantly sullen and withdrawn, and was spearing his brussel sprouts with more force than required.

Tracy and Millicent were engrossed in their own conversation and appeared aware of the shifting dynamics and subtle undertows threading themselves amongst the rest of the eighth year snakes as they'd ate. Of the eight of them, though, Theo would have been surprised if either Tracy nor Daphne would have raised a fuss or snarked about pedigrees.

As they all left the Great Hall and ventured on to their afternoon lessons, Theo pulled Draco subtly aside and away from the remainder of their house, drifting back to mingle amongst the blue and bronze.

"You do realize he loves to bait you, ya?" Theo asked, though his words did nothing to raise Draco's darkening spirits.

"He's just such an _ass_." Draco bit out and Theo laughed. Draco had always detested being wrong footed or brought down off his throne. And he absolutely detested being forced out of his comfort zone.

"Look who's throwing stones mate. You could give lectures on being a pampered, entitled ass, who pouts as well as any ankle-biter." Theo joked, earning him a sardonic grin before Draco once more fell into a maudlin mood.

"Of course he shut you down the way he did, Draco. You inferred he was a lesser choice, and presumed he'd be nothing but grateful to be fed scraps of your attention. Maybe in the distant past where you actually held court, you may have gotten away with your comment and presumption. But now…"

Theo shook his head and sighed. Apparently not everything he'd said had penetrated that blond head. "We need to rebuild, Draco, and that means not alienating those who are our _peers._ They'renot subjects. This was your fuck up, he just reacted in typical asshole fashion. Blaise has always held himself aloof and aloft, even during the darkest of times."

"I always wondered why he seemed to look down on all of us... not just the bloodtraitors and the muggleborns. He was always quick to cut down one of his own as well. He's not even sacred twenty-eight, as if that bullshit matters anymore..." Draco mused sullenly.

"Blaise has never truly believed all the blood purity fuckery Draco; he just toed the party line and spewed the least offensive rhetoric so as to not draw attention. His preferred step-father was muggleborn, and was the only one half decent to him."

"How do you know that?" Asked Draco incredulously. Theo knew Draco'd been under the impression Blaise was every bit as prejudiced as the lot of them, though simply preferred to play the role of disdainful aristocrat. Draco had been wrong, on both his and Blaise's accounts.

"I'm observant, quiet. People are apt to drop their guard around those they feel pose no threat, and take no notice of. Don't tell me there's no skeletons or shadows in your closet Draco... we all have masks and armours of thickened flesh to protect what we hold dear and true."

Draco had given Theo a penetrating look before returning to his brooding silence.

The cloud of gloom and inflated bitterness had rested above his friend for the remainder of the day, seeming to shift only when Draco began to needle Theo into revealing what had set him off before Transfiguration as they lounged in their new common room.

Then _she'd_ entered, and Theo's focus had shifted from deflecting Draco's comments to watching Hermione.

"Let it be," Theo finally snapped, authority threading through the curt clipped tones. The effect was instantaneous. Draco sat back abruptly and arranged himself into the epitome of an aloof aristocrat, though his slate eyes were regarding Theo like a hawk.

Theo surveyed the two Gryffindors as they chatted, or rather, Granger chatted and the last of the school Weasley's listened. Although, listened may have been stretching it, as she appeared to interject as much as she was silent and at one point, had glanced baldly over. When she realized she'd run into the net of his gaze, she'd given a jolt of surprise, then an amused wave coupled with a canary-eating grin. Granger herself looked to be memorizing the patten of the fabric upon which she sat, cheeks tinged a muted rose.

 _'Enough of this,'_ he thought tiredly, and rose with a weary elegance from his chair. Placing a bookmark between the timeworn pages of his book, he set it on the table beside the ornate piece of furniture he vacated and proceeded toward where Granger and Weasley resided. He knew his abrupt and silent departure would be generating waves amongst his kin, however, he really didn't give a toss.

 _'Let them percolate,'_ he thought as he reached the vignette of furnishings that housed the two Gryffindors.

"Evening ladies," he said, and nerves had his already husky timber pitched lower, like a campfire had caressed his vocal cords and been extinguished with scotch. He would have felt gauche and circumspect, had he not witnessed the minute shiver that seemed to run along Grangers spine as he spoke. Seeing her reaction to him bolstered his confidence once more, and he turned toward the littlest Weasley.

"Theodore Nott," he said, by way of acquaintance.

"I know who you are." Said Weasley.

"Ginny…" Sighed Granger, earning her an eye roll.

"Oh _fine_! Ginny Weasley," the redhead announced, curiosity spilling from her cerulean eyes as her frigid tone whipped through him. "Though I'm sure you already knew that."

She held out her hand and instead of shaking it with his own, he grasped her fingertips and quickly bestowed a kiss upon the back of her hand.

"Pleasure," he said courteously, his lips twitching as she snatched her hand back with exasperation, her frosty composure cracking slightly. The old ways, for all their drawbacks, were in his opinion, _definitely_ more gentile and refined in greetings than the modern fashions of address.

And much more pleasurable.

"Well then." Weasley said, with slightly more warmth, "Can't say you're lacking in manners."

He saw Granger raise an eyebrow and he felt his stomach give a small little flip as he reached for her own hand.

"Enchanté," he murmured, repeating his previous gesture, allowing his lips to linger a second longer, press a tad firmer to her skin than he had her friend's. He was heartened when a blush stained her cheeks though he could tell she was slightly vexed with him despite her outward calm.

Her fidgeting fingers and the tense line of her neck betrayed her.

"Granger, a word?" He asked politely, conscious of the fact he hadn't yet released the hand he held. He was also conscious of the fact she hadn't pulled her own out of his light grasp.

Granger opened her mouth to speak, when Weasley announced, "I'm going to go find Luna. See you back at ours Hermione."

Standing, she gave Granger a look that held an entire conversation in a glance, then flounced off toward the entrance.

Now alone, Granger's temper appeared to have simmered to the surface. The departure of her friend seemed to snap her to awareness and she removed her hand from his with a smoothness that would have made Narcissa Malfoy proud.

"May I?" Theo asked, gesturing to the newly vacated chair.

"It's empty," she said archly, shrugging her shoulder in nonchalance as he arranged himself upon the upholstered cushion.

"I'm sorry," Theo blurted out, leaning forward, elbows on knees and hands clasped in earnest.

"Sorry for what?" Granger asked, crossing her arms and raising an eyebrow. "Sorry for _yet again_ biting my head off, or sorry you apparently can't make up your mind how to act around me?"

Theo made to respond, but she interrupted him.

Leaning forward herself, she reached across and laid a hand upon his. He felt himself twitch at the contact, but didn't retreat.

"Nott —"

"Theo," he said, "please, call me Theo."

"Alright, _Theo_." She said. Hearing his name pass between her lips sent shivers down his spine, "My two best mates are male, so I understand all too well how you lot operate. I understand and can respect you not wanting to discuss certain… topics, but I just wanted you to know you weren't alone in what you experienced last night. That's all. I'm looking forward to working together —"

"And getting to know each other," Theo said, turning his hand over so her palm rested lightly within his.

"Quite." She said, a small smile dancing upon her lips.

"All I ask is that you try and temper that blade you call a tongue, as it is quick to sever a conversation and skewer those who dare walk off the path of your internally-approved topics. Part of getting to know someone is to let them see the parts that get the least amount of sun."

Theo regarded the witch in front of him, whose earnest eyes appraised him with something akin to… hope, and warmth.

"I don't…" he started, but his voice broke.

"You do." She whispered, and squeezed his hand. He wondered if she knew legillimency, for she seemed to understand what he couldn't bring himself to verbalize.

"I'll work on it," he said finally.

Not try.

He _would_ do it, would work at opening himself up. At least to her, if only to bask in the warmth her presence, her apparent acceptance, provided.

"So, Theo," Granger said, removing her hand and leaning back in her chair. "We've much to discuss."

He regarded her somewhat warily. Sure she'd continue to chip away at his veneer like Daphne tried, he was surprised when she instead said, "When do you want to go through our combined ideas and pick a topic?"

Thankful they had moved off of feelings and onto something more comfortable, more neutral, Theo flashed a genuine smile, his cheeks protesting the rare use of their muscles. "Why Granger, I thought you'd never ask."

"Hermione," she said. "You can call me Hermione. All my friends do…"

"I'd be honored," Theo said simply, "Hermione."

 **A/N: thank you to everyone who's followed, favorited or reviewed. You seriously make my day!**


	11. Chapter 11

**A/N: I own nothing and make no money from this story. Reposting due to FFn being glitchy and not updating properly. To everyone reviewing, following or favoriting, thank you so much! I adore you all :)**

 **Chapter 11**

"You're friends are staring," said Hermione as she pulled the parchments scribbled with their topic ideas out of her satchel.

"Indeed," replied Theo, not caring one iota that his about-face behavior was throwing a pebble into the projected stillness of the Slytherin pond; creating ripples of unease.

He was breaking form, and he knew there would be blowback but at the moment, he'd be arsed to care. For the first time in a long while, he was exactly where he wanted to be, with who he wanted to be with, and he wouldn't let others fears or discomforts sway him.

He'd done that for far too long.

"Just so you're aware, Hermione, _your_ pride is circling," Theo taunted, eyes flashing with sardonic mirth. Hermione's head raised from the parchments she'd been perusing, her eyes connecting with his. At the sight of her eyes flicking infinitesimally down toward his, a hint of a smile tugged the corners of his lips up and Theo felt a tightening in his chest as his breath quickened.

Her ocular caress was as swift as the beat of a hummingbird's wing but the impact hit Theo like a rouge bludger, and he fought the urge to lick his lips to see if he could taste it.

She swiveled her head slightly toward the center of the room before letting out a frustrated gust of breath.

"Oh, _honestly_." She sighed, as Longbottom approached with the other two returning male Gryffindors flanking slightly behind.

"All right, Hermione?" Asked Longbottom, and though his question was addressed to Granger, Longbottom's eyes remained solely fixed on Theo's.

Theo held his gaze steadily — there was no question of Theo losing in this apparent play for power — though he maintained as benign an expression as possible, despite his desire to laugh in derision at their posturing.

He could respect their unease, and their protectiveness over their own based on previous history with those of his ilk. He even respected their bold approach and the fact that Longbottom didn't stutter or shake in a snake's presence any longer, but addressed Theo as an equal, if not a lesser.

That being said, Theo's incredulity of their behavior was due completely to the witch in front of him. She had survived worse than Theo by a long shot, and if he knew anything at all about her just from his observations from a distance, it was that Hermione Granger detested requiring assistance or rescuing. Especially when offered in situations where she had it well in hand.

Longbottom's mouth twitched at the continued banality of Theo's gaze, but held his ground; his eyes only flickering to Granger when she straightened her shoulders and addressed the three in front of them.

"Neville, Seamus, Dean. Have you met Theodore Nott? We've shared classes over the years though I'm unsure if you've all been properly introduced." She smiled broadly — all glinting teeth and sparkling eyes, a predator's smile — and waved her hand between them.

"Pleasure," Theo said, his manners as ingrained as the anger he felt toward his father and likely as permanent. He tilted his head in acknowledgement, before folding his hands together and resting them on his knee, his facade emanating a nonchalant air of polite expectation.

"Erm, right, ya. Nott. Follower of Malfoy and —"

"Follower of no one," Theo cut in sharply. Longbottom made a noise, which Theo chose to ignore.

"Not bloody likely, with a ruddy Death Eater for a father," said Finnegan, causing the last of their trio to look awkwardly away, scratching his nose.

"And he's a friend of mine, as well as my partner for our term project." Said Hermione, steel threading itself through her words, her predators smile having shifted to one of frozen molten. Finnegan turned mulish at her rebuke and the words 'Ron' and 'Harry' and 'bleedin' mental' were heard in lowered undertones, while Longbottom and the other — Thomas, that was his name — stared at Hermione in wary appeasement.

Hearing the not-so-subtle muttering, Hermione's patience appeared to reach its end.

"Enough Seamus! Thank you for your concern, it's duly noted, and though appreciated, is also not necessary. Whom I befriend is quite frankly none of your concern. Wasn't it you, Dean, that agreed with Professor Mcgonagall about interhouse unity and working with a partner from another house?"

Thomas nodded and smiled at Hermione before reaching forward and extending his hand.

"Dean Thomas." He said with placid congeniality.

"Theodore Nott," replied Theo, shaking Thomas's hand. He repeated the exchange with Longbottom, however; Finnegan resolutely refused to acknowledge him, instead, he stood there, arms crossed and jaw clenched and simmering with righteous anger. Brief tedious small talk was exchanged before Hermione all but outright verbally dismissed her housemates. As the three blokes turned and retreated to their original seats, having had her smooth their their ruffled feathers, Hermione began repacking her school satchel with the parchments she'd just removed.

"I don't think we'll get any work done tonight," said Hermione in answer to his unspoken question at her actions, shooting him an apologetic look as she began clasping her satchel shut. "We are well ahead of schedule though, so postponing our decision a day won't significantly impact our workload."

Theo felt disappointment thread itself through his veins but arranged his face to reflect only his patented neutral facade.

"As you wish," he said, giving her a nod and a soft smile. He made to stand, ready to take his leave, when she forestalled him by placing her hand gently upon his arm.

"I wasn't meaning to imply that I was through spending time with you, Theo." Hermione said, her eyes wide and tentative, and oh, but Theo could drown in those eyes. He paused in his movements and quirked an eyebrow.

"Then what were you suggesting, Hermione?" Theo asked, his tongue almost caressing her name as it fled through his lips.

"It's a lovely evening, fancy a walk around the grounds? It feels suddenly oppressive in the castle, despite… all the restoration efforts." She shrugged, feigning nonchalance but Theo saw through the veneer.

"I find I fancy a walk immensely," said Theo, feeling his eyes crinkle a bit at the corners as he smiled. Lifting her satchel as he rose, he was surprised to find it substantially lighter than he'd anticipated due to the immense book-load he knew was contained within.

"Feather-light charm?" He asked, slinging it onto his shoulder effortlessly.

"Naturally." Replied Hermione, rolling her eyes. "I learned relatively soon that first year that disproportionally balanced and overweighted satchels create the worst backaches. Professor Flitwick taught me this spell my first month; I was proficient in less than an hour." Her face radiated the pride she felt over this accomplishment, seeing as the charm was typically taught during second year.

"Naturally," echoed Theo, and was rewarded with a flash of perfectly sized, perfectly straight teeth, before Hermione gestured toward her satchel.

"I can carry that you know," she said, and made to remove it from where the strap lay across his shoulder. "I don't need assistance."

"Believe me Hermione," said Theo, angling his torso away and chuckling as he began slowly moving toward the entrance of the common room, forcing Hermione to keep pace lest she be left behind. "I know that you, out of any of us, are not in need of assistance. But isn't it — I don't know, nice? — to be relieved of your burden, for even a smidgen of time? Even a burden as mundane and insignificant as this spelled book sac here?"

"Well… yes, I suppose —" Hermione began, as they passed through the joint common room doors and into the deserted corridor. Curfew was approaching, and most students save for the oldest years appeared to have retired to their respective house common rooms.

"Then accept that I've relieved you of your — quite literal — burden; it is no trouble to me at all." He cheeked, and although Hermione grumbled and postured, he noted a slight upward lilt to her lips and a sparkle appear in her eyes.

' _I wonder if anyone's ever looked out for her like this, in the simple, benign actions of ones daily routine. Or offered without demanding something of her in return_ ,' thought Theo, resolving to ease her load wherever and however he could without coming across as opportunistic, oppressive or domineering, or even worse; making her feel as if he saw her as weak. He knew those were attributes and attitudes that would send Hermione running faster than a thestral could devour raw meat.

"I'll make you a bargain, Mr. Nott," said Hermione imperiously. "I'll allow you to carry my school sac without protest if —" she broke off and turned to face him, her face a study in mischief and smugness. "You school me in the ways of the Tradtitional Wizarding world; the customs and traditions you're angered at seeing watered down or becoming obsolete…"

Theo stopped walking, and looked at Hermione, his eyes narrowed in consideration. Her thirst for new knowledge didn't shock him, though he was slightly curious about how she'd react to some of the traditions — especially the ones he would love to see abolished — considering how much of a fuss she'd made fourth year over the house elves.

"What?" She asked, appearing confused that Theo had yet to speak. "You did say you wished muggleborns like me would be educated in the traditions by those whose blood in essence bled them. Are you rethinking your position?" Theo noticed she looked slightly crestfallen, and hoped it wasn't solely at possibly being denied this avenue of new information.

"It's not that…" began Theo, "but, well… you can be a tad scary at times Hermione, when you feel a wrong has been committed or someone has been slighted. I'm hesitant to be the target of your wrath, should you feel any of the traditions I wish remained fall into one of those two categories. Or worse, just being the messenger of the rotten customs and inciting a lashing from your sharpened tongue."

They were standing in one of the corridors leading to the entrance hall. Devoid of its usual bustle of students and with the wall sconces candle levels dimmed, the atmosphere was intimate and still.

Hermione had turned her face upward and was scrutinizing him, eyes narrowed and lips pursed. Theo felt his eyes drawn again towards her mouth, and felt himself warm slightly as he wondered how she'd taste, if he were to dip his head.

"I amend my preposition," Hermione said after a beat, nodding her head decisively. Smiling slightly, she continued, "you school me in your traditions and such, and if I disagree with anything you describe, we discuss it rationally, logically and with respect. I won't unilaterally begin a crusade until I understand exactly why you are suggesting something remain and will attempt to remain open-minded. You, Mr. Nott, will in turn open-mindedly listen to my reasons something should become obsolete…"

Theo began to speak but Hermione cut him off.

"As to my sharpened tongue," she murmured, and he saw her eyes flicker for the merest fraction of a second to his mouth before continuing, "I will do my best, to keep it restrained within my mouth."

Her cheeks had reddened slightly, visible even in the candlelight, as she spoke of her tongues location.

"You'll do your best, you say?" Taunted Theo, playfully arching a brow as he tapped his finger against his bottom lip, thumb on jaw, as if contemplating her words.

"I make no promises," said Hermione solemnly though her eyes twinkled.

Theo thought quickly.

"I accept your amendment Miss Granger, though I do have an addition of my own," he said, smiling slightly.

"I'd expect nothing less," said Hermione.

"You accept that I'll carry your book sac whenever, wherever, I please with no protests, and our first lesson in Traditions and Customs will take place during the first Hogsmeade Visit in three weeks, at a location of my choosing." Theo felt suddenly nervous. He hoped — planned — to ask her to their first Hogsmeade visit, though hadn't anticipated it would be on their second day of the school year. He'd wanted her to get to know him better, but this seemed just too good an opportunity to pass up. The Slytherin in him felt combining the outing with her thirst for knowledge was to his advantage.

"Are you… are you asking me out, Theodore Nott?" Hermione said, her honeyed voice losing its laughter, becoming serious… nervous.

"I am," said Theo, willing his voice not to show his own nerves. Thankfully, it came out sounding like he'd gargled rocks, which in his opinion was better than sounding as if he'd swallowed a mouse. He saw Hermione shiver slightly, and hoped it was due to him, and not the slight chill of he evening air.

Holding her gaze, he said boldly, "Would you do me the honor of accompanying me to Hogsmeade, Hermione?"


	12. Chapter 12

**Legal: I don't own anything except the plot and make no money from this story.**

 **Chapter 12**

Hermione couldn't believe it. Theodore Nott, scion of the pureblood bloody aristocracy, was asking her out. On one hand, she felt annoyed. Of course he was asking now, now that it was socially acceptable for him to do so.

'But it's not, not for his family. Not really,' she chided herself, 'If anything, he risks more than I do.'

On the other hand…

Hermione's stomach knotted with nerves. She wasn't very good at the whole dating scene. It had taken Viktor almost stalking her in the library her fourth year, for her to clue in that he just might be interested; him having to directly ask her to the Yule Ball when subtle hints hadn't worked. She'd had an inkling he'd wished to pursue more with her than securing just a dance partner, but she'd realized rather quickly that between their age difference and language barrier, they really didn't have that much in common and she hadn't felt the drive to make something out of nothing.

They'd parted as friends and remained as such throughout the years. She'd even received an owl from him as recently as this past summer, letting her know of his recent engagement to a Romanian herbologist named Loana. Hermione couldn't have been happier for him.

With Ron, their romantic interest had percolated for years, reaching the pinnacle of their attraction the day of the great Battle. Alas, it had taken them a few short weeks thereafter to realize they lacked the chemistry they — and others — had envisioned existed, and without it, their bickering began to edge toward bitterness and thinly veiled contempt and resentment. Being a romantically entangled couple seemed to bring out the worst in each of of them. They'd called it quits before they could hurt the other past the point of forgiveness, and had spent the remainder of the past summer filling and repaving the potholes created in the foundations of their previously laid friendship.

Ron would always be a close mate, but Hermione was supremely glad they'd realized early enough that some people just weren't destined to be romantically involved.

Cormac McLaggen had been an utter disaster of a date. He'd been boorish, utterly besotted with himself, and had absolutely refused to acknowledge her verbal and subsequent non-verbal insistences that she didn't want to snog him. It had taken a well placed knee and a strong repulsion spell to keep him at a distance, and had turned a wonderful night of networking — with the potential of a goodnight kiss — into a harried disaster that left bruises on her arms requiring multiple applications of healing salve.

She'd spelled his feet the following day to give off an overwhelming and repulsive odor. Before he'd had a chance to seek medical assistance, she'd had a discussion with Madam Pomfrey as to what and why she'd done it, to ensure her spellwork would be effective and enduring.

The mediwitch had been appalled at his behavior, and had agreed for everyone's sake that a lesson was in order. Madam Pomfrey had carried a soft spot for Hermione since her catastrophe with the polyjuice potion in second year, and had been delightfully and veritably unhelpful toward Cormac when he'd sought her out for medical assistance. It had been especially satisfying for Hermione to watch as even his mates gave him a wide berth due to his over ripe smell.

Hermione hadn't told anyone what had happened the night of Slughorn's party — not even Harry — nor what her retaliation was. She had, instead, silently let Cormac suffer for slightly over a month before she'd allowed Madam Pomfrey to 'fix' him with a subtly cast non-verbal incantation and an extremely sticky, painful cream.

She'd met a few muggle boys on her travels with her parents over the various summers, but between her perpetual awkwardness in social situations and the all encompassing secret that was her life in a magical society, Hermione hadn't even bothered to pursue anyone. She hadn't fancied winding up with a crush on a boy who she'd probably never see again, or if she did, it'd be so rarely their relationship would hardly count for much.

Her biggest reason for not integrating herself more into the muggle teenage world was that she'd never be able to be her true self. She'd be caught between two worlds — more than she already was — and that to her, was completely unfathomable and unacceptable.

'Ron was right. I'm alive, but I haven't really lived…' she thought, a refrain from one of their more heated arguments rising to the top of her consciousness as she reflected upon her meager dating history.

Theodore Nott, with his captivating eyes, wicked sharp wit and air of mystery, was in a category all his own.

A category she'd spent years scrutinizing and contemplating; one she was terrified of exploring and then being found wanting. He'd fascinated her for almost half their time at Hogwarts and his intellect intrigued her, as did the layers she felt and saw simmer below his surface. She'd been honest when she'd told him he puzzled her, that she truly believed he'd been holding himself back in their classes.

When their eyes had met on the train and in the Great Hall a few days prior, she'd been unprepared for the visceral reaction his gaze had evoked within her. She'd been secretly thrilled when he'd sought her out for the term project, and his anxiety attack — or panic attack, she wasn't quite certain — the evening previous had shown him to her in another new light. Theo was an enigma, and it didn't hurt that she found him incredibly attractive, nor that her body appeared to react favorably when he'd grabbed her hand earlier. He wasn't traditionally handsome, but he had a captivating presence, and his eyes…

"Hermione?" Theo said tentatively, shifting slightly, and she realized she'd yet to respond to his invitation. A surreptitious glance had her understanding that for all his confidence, those eyes were currently betraying him, broadcasting his nerves.

"I'd like that," Hermione said, giving him a shy smile and nodding her acquiescence. "I would very much wish to accompany you, Theo."

"Brilliant," he breathed out, and the smile that stole across his face was blinding in its warmth and veritable relief as his face relaxed infinitesimally. She felt her heart beat pick up inside her chest, her face flushing at the sight he presented.

Hermione rubbed her hand discreetly upon her robes to remove the evidence of her nerves before holding it out for him to shake. "I believe that with that matter settled, we have an agreement, Mr. Nott"

Theo shook her hand, his long fingers with their slightly ridged knuckles sliding securely against her palm to grasp hers. "We do indeed, Miss Granger."

Hermione felt acute disappointment when the handshake ended, and felt the void of his hand against hers left behind.

They proceeded through the Entrance Halls's double doors and out onto the grounds, neither seeming to have a pre-determined destination in mind.

"Where do you wish to walk?" Theo asked, and Hermione faltered slightly as she took in the dusk shadowed grounds. She'd been too distracted the night they'd arrived to take in much, her eyes flickering and skimming past and over details.

As she looked out now, upon the landscape that had shaped her youth, she was assailed… assailed by visions of blood, the smell of smoke, bodies strewn and the sounds… the sounds and senses of war overtook her.

She felt herself begin to tremble as her evening meal rolled within her stomach, threatening to expel itself. Her breath clawed at her throat, catching and clinging and making it difficult to draw air. Her chest tightened, pain radiating in her shoulder while the crushing weight of invisible memories overwhelmed and suffocated her.

This wasn't the first time she'd experienced a panic attack, nor the first time she'd experienced one in front of another, however; it was the first time she'd experienced one while being enveloped by so many of the actual triggers. Hermione had thought she'd been prepared, had worked hard over the summer to develop coping techniques, but standing there outside the castle's entrance, she realized how inadequately prepared she truly was.

'Breathe… in, hold… breathe out…' she repeated to herself, her arms wrapping around her torso as if to hold it back from splintering into pieces. Closing her eyes, Hermione focused on her breathing, letting the air clear her lungs and her internal chant ground her to the present.

Moments ticked by slowly before she was gradually able to bring her vision back from the horrors remembered, her breathing regulated, and her trembling began to subside. She could now feel the cool night air kiss her cheeks instead of heat and dust, and smell the crisp tang of the lake rather than smoke and decay. She heard the subtle sounds of the nocturnal insects making their rounds and the Owlery in the distance, rather than the sounds of screaming and curses and spells.

Opening her eyes, Hermione wasn't prepared to see Theo directly in front of her, bent so his eyes were at her height and close enough that she could begin to see the hint of shadow along his jaw.

He was speaking, and she was additionally surprised to find his hands rested gently but firmly upon her shoulders.

"Hermione!" He was saying, his voice having adopted the regulated soothing tones of a meditation narrator. "Hermione, you're alive and you're safe."

He was repeating the affirmations, his hands maintaining their light but steady grip upon her shoulders as he spoke.

He was coaching her through her panic attack, she realized belatedly, the smooth cadence of his voice skittering across her consciousness, assisting in pulling her back to the land of the living.

'A fucking panic attack… NOW!' she though, angrily wiping at the tears that always seemed to follow immediately after. Whether they were tears of relief, sorrow, grief, anger… she wasn't sure and frankly didn't think it even mattered what the qualifier was. They, along with the fucking panic attacks, were just souvenirs from the war she'd physically survived, but mentally… she was just one of the many ensnared in the war's residual grip.

She meant to apologize, to make some self-deprecating comment about how he'd surely want to rethink their Hogsmeade date, but instead, what came out was a whispered, "Thank you."

With a slight residual tremble to her hand, she reached up and cupped his cheek. "Thank you." She repeated, smoothing her thumb against the roughness developing along his jaw before lowering her hand.

"Thanks are unnecessary, Hermione. As you said to me…" he said, pausing before appearing to shore up his courage. "You aren't alone in this. I get them too, though nothing as encompassing as what I just witnessed; I'm glad I was able to be there with you tonight. I—"

Theo broke off, looking uncomfortable. "Ermm, can we keep walking? It makes talking easier…" He said, seeming to pull into himself a bit, and Hermione nodded, understanding completely what he meant. It was a tad intense, exposing your underbelly while looking someone in the eye, especially when the person you're confiding in was, in essence, a stranger.

"Absolutely. Alright if we head down toward the lake?"

Theo's relief was palatable and he nodded, hoisting her sac more securely onto his shoulder as they veered off down the main path toward the lake.


	13. Chapter 13

**Legal: I do not own anything but the plot and make no money from this story.**

 **Chapter 13**

"Do you get them often?" Theo asked, his eyes scanning the horizon.

"Yes."

Crickets chirped, in the distance a fish jumped, the splash and resulting ripples overlapping to create the warm up tunes of nature's nocturnal orchestra.

Theo remained silent beside her, apparently giving her time to expand if she so desired. Hermione was grateful he wasn't the pushy sort.

She rubbed her arms as if to stave off a chill. "They're worse when I'm overtired or already feeling anxious, though tonight… tonight was the first time I've truly seen the castle grounds since the final Battle, our night of return notwithstanding."

Theo nodded but again, didn't comment. Hermione had purposefully distracted herself that night, not allowing herself the option of lowered guards and reminiscences. She hadn't expected to pay for her suppression methods in such a short span of time.

She knew from experience avoidance and suppression made things significantly worse, and wondered how many more attacks like tonight were in store for her in the near future. She'd been preoccupied over the summer, dealing with her own personal fallout of the war, and thus hadn't been a part of the restoration efforts. She'd purposefully avoided returning until the school term, despite knowing both Ron and Harry had on a few occasions been by to see how things were shaping up and to lend a hand.

Theo and Hermione made their way silently down the path, her calves feeling the shift in the earth's descent, their subtle burn a sharp relief, a sense of normalcy returning.

"My reaction in the library the other night, to your comments about me… hiding," Theo said, "I'm not used to people seeing below the false bottom of my projected countenance. For all our airs, most Slytherins don't see beyond the obvious, unless given reason. I never gave them reason. No one felt the need to look beyond what I wished them to believe, to see."

Hermione kept her eyes forward, restraining her impetuous nature to focus on and pounce on this new outlet of information. She instinctively knew, from years of friendship with Ron and Harry and from her years spent observing the boy in front of her, that certain moments required discretion and the comfort of distance.

Despite whatever Ron and Harry interpreted as her constant nagging and interference, Hermione knew she could be subtle and restrained when necessary.

Baring one's vulnerabilities was not the moment to pounce and play twenty questions like an eager kitten with a new toy.

"I've been hiding in plain sight for years… out of self preservation to begin with, and then…" Theo trailed off, giving a bitter chuckle and a shake of his head, and Hermione snuck a sideways glance at him. The sun had set over the distant horizon, but a faint glow illuminated the clouds. The residual light highlighed his profile, kissing the edges of his features, sending the angles of his bone structure into arresting relief.

' _Oh my…'_ thought Hermione, ' _I never thought I'd be jealous of the sun.'_

"I knew eventually I'd have to choose. I'd have to step up, as it were… but until then, I kept my head down, kept the spotlight elsewhere so as to not be first in line for the esteemed honors my father wished me to embrace."

"Are you and your father close?" Asked Hermione softly. She didn't think the answer would be the affirmative, but she also knew even Himmler had had favorable relations with his children.

Monsters wore the masks of men, after all.

Theo scoffed, and shook his head adamantly, eyes shuttered. "Close in proximity, when not attending Hogwarts. But I abhorred him, and everything he stood — stands — for. I found it fascinating that for all his bluster and suspicious nature, he had no inkling I wasn't the eager obedient whelp he assumed I was, despite never giving him evidence to support his assumptions." He rubbed the back of his head and threw her a smirk that showcased now dancing eyes. "I'd say it's safe to assume he knows where and what I stand for now, ya? Seeing as I'm the primary reason he'll remain in Azkaban indefinitely."

Hermione's eyebrows raised. "Merlin's beard! I didn't know _you_ were the source…" she breathed, momentarily stunned at the bravery of his testifying.

She remembered the night Kingsley had joined them for dinner at the Burrow. It had been following a massive capture of rouge followers of Voldemort, and Kingsley had been exceptionally pleased about the capture and imprisonment of a particularly prominent Death Eater and how, due to their ironclad source, he'd never walk free.

He'd been circumspect about what made their source so valuable, the evidence against the Death Eater so iron-clad and binding, and no one around the Weasley's table that night had pushed.

It was a clean-cut win, a rarity for those tasked with rebuilding efforts and the reconstruction of and corruption purging within the Ministry; one especially vindicating due to the nature and length of the man's service and crimes. It had been enough that it happened, details were window dressings — nice to-do's but not of vital importance overall.

She'd recognized the name of the Death Eater when she'd read the announcement in the paper two days later, and she'd briefly wondered how his son was faring and how he'd made out over the past year. She hadn't guessed Theo had been the author of his own father's final demise.

"Trust me when I say… I'm very good to have in your corner, Granger. And one you'd never wish to cross if I wasn't, though you'd never know it to be me unless I wished for that. I will always protect what's mine…" His eyes had sharpened, though Hermione knew intrinsically he wasn't threatening her, merely stating the facts of his moral code. His quiet confidence was heady. She recognized in him a mirror of her own internal determination — her own moral compass — that she used to keep those she loved safe; whatever the costs.

She beamed at him.

"As do I." She said, and Theo smirked.

"Rumor has it you can be right vicious when crossed, Granger. I distinctly remember hearing about a Ravenclaw incurring the brunt of your wrath during fifth year."

Hermione's eyes narrowed. "She shouldn't have betrayed us, betrayed Harry." She said mulishly, feeling still slightly angry and defensive, but definitely not ashamed. "I did what no one else thought of or had the stomach to do."

No guilt, no remorse were heard in her words, despite permanently scarring another student. Hermione had no time for second guessing actions that she truly believed were for the betterment of their war efforts. Her anger and hatred toward Umbridge that year had hardened her to consequences outside of saving those she cared for.

She shrugged again, seeing Theo regarding her with ardent speculation.

"Are you sure you were sorted correctly?" Theo taunted, the warmth on his face tempering any inferred bite to the words.

"Quite sure," said Hermione, then in faux horror, "can you imagine, muggle-born me living amongst you and your lot?"

"Many a time," she heard Theo mutter quietly, but when she glanced at him, he'd schooled his expression back to one solely of mirth and mischief, the intensity of moments before gone.

Theo nudged her shoulder as they walked. "The fact that not even the school mediwitch could reverse the damage of your spell, and that you were never caught and punished despite even us Slytherins knowing what you'd done… well, I'm not going to lie." Theo looked at her then, and there was heat in his eyes as he said. "I was silently applauding your methods, wishing I could praise you in person. So, I say now, well done you!"

She smiled her thanks.

"You were the definite minority," she said. "Most who spoke to me about it thought I'd crossed a line."

"Those who thought that are naive, and therefore unqualified to pass judgements." He stated confidently.

' _Oh, he'll be an interesting one to have around!'_ Thought Hermione, finding his interpretation and stance on her actions to be, frankly, seductive.

As they walked, their hands swung between them, brushing and teasing, skin against skin. Hermione was acutely conscious of their touching, but was too unsure of herself as to make a move, despite Theo never re-positioning himself to be further away from their sporadic grazing.

' _It's only been two days since we've had even a real conversation…and he_ just _asked me out.'_ she thought, trying to use logic to tamper down her urge to grab his hand. ' _What is going on with me… I've never craved the touch of another like this, nor even felt the impulse to make the move other than in the heat of battle. Merlin knows how long Ron and I waltzed around each other before that, and after…"_

Still… she couldn't help the slight flip of her stomach when she felt a pinky hook with hers. Glancing down, she saw Theo's hand linked with hers solely by that one delicate juncture, and, raising her eyes, saw him peering at her with what she interpreted as tentative hesitation.

It was his own reticence that ultimately bolstered her courage.

Flashing him a shy smile, she accepted his unspoken invitation, and, summoning her Gryffindor mettle, slid her hand fully into his. Entwining their fingers, she was pleased to find their differing heights caused none of the awkward positioning holding Ron's hand had. Holding Ron's hand had been a tangle of digits and elbows, with none of the ease and fluidity that came with holding Theo's.

Theo didn't pull his hand away, nor did he tighten his grip overly-hard upon hers. Instead, their hands rested comfortably within each other's, their arms swinging in sync as they continued along the path.

Glancing over, she saw Theo gazing off toward the lake, and she'd have thought he was unaffected by their contact if she hadn't spent countless classes observing him. His cheeks had a slight spots of high color upon their apples, his eyes crinkled slightly at the corners, and his lips tilted infinitesimally upward.

To an outward observer, he appeared merely to be basking in the crisp fall air and freedom of a stroll at dusk. She could tell, however, that his breathing had quickened — as had hers — and despite his outward nonchalance, Hermione felt elation bubble up inside her that he appeared as affected as her.

They continued on the path that led to the lake past Hagrid's Hut.

"I should really pay him visit him one of these days," murmured Hermione as the path veered away from the hut and decended sharply towards the waters edge.

"Pay who a visit?" Queried Theo.

"Hagrid," said Hermione, motioning to their professor's hut.

"Right, you lot were on friendly terms with him." Said Theo, before adding after a beat, "there was no way a Slytherin could have been, even if they'd wanted to. Too much ingrained prejudice, on both sides."

Hermione remained silent, as she knew all to well the truth he spoke. For all that the Slytherins seemed to delight in causing havoc during class and taunting the oversized professor, Hagrid clung to his own deeply seeded anger and contempt when it came to those whose house found sanctuary and slumber below the lake.

Not that the majority of his disgruntlements and hostilities were without merit.

"Hagrid's had a rough go of it." She said instead. "It's not common knowledge, but Tom Riddle —"

"Who?" Asked Theo conversationally.

Hermione stopped walking, and stared at Theo in shock.

"You're joking," she blurted out, a bit dumbstruck.

"About what? Not knowing who this Tom bloke is? I can assure you, I'm not." He quirked a smile, as if pleased with his own pun, but Hermione was too astounded to acknowledge it.

"You don't know who Tom Riddle is?"

Theo sighed. "We've established this, Hermione."

"Sorry… I'd just thought…" Hermione bit her lip, before rushing onward. "I'd just thought, given that your father was one of his longest supporters, you'd have heard his name before."

It was as if a Dementor had drifted overhead, how fast the lightheartedness faded from Theo's eyes. Hermione watched as his jaw tightened and his lips thinned, his public mask snapping quickly into place.

"Tom Riddle was… Voldemort." Theo said flatly, statement, not question, and Hermione nodded.

"I thought you knew," she said softly, and Theo's eyebrow rose, nostrils flaring slightly.

"Because of my father," he stated.

"Yes. Harry had mentioned they were classmates, or at least mates of a sort back in their Hogwarts days. This was prior to Tom donning the Voldemort anagram and shedding his youthful identity."

"Father never referred to him as anything other than 'The Dark Lord' in my presence. I wasn't aware he was even called Voldemort until I was older, as elsewhere crowds referred to him under that ridiculous moniker 'you-know-who'." Theo's voice, Hermione noticed, had grown tired. Not the tired that came with needing a good night's sleep, but the tired that arose when your soul was weary.

"How did Potter even know about Father and… Voldemort? I mean, being classmates and all?" She noticed that Theo looked very ill at ease at this revelation, and she could only assume that being kept in the dark about information surrounding his father's loyalties and ties would be hard to swallow.

' _Knowing someone else, someone Theo neither knows nor truly trusted was given the information instead of him must chafe_ ,' she thought, a slightly hollow feeling settling in the pit of her stomach.

"Sometimes I forgot how much was kept secret." She said, brow furrowed as they continued down toward the lake. "How much I know, how much I was involved in, all because of Harry."

They'd reached the shore, the pebbled rocks and jagged stones lining the waters edge along with different kelp and discards of driftwood. Picking her way through the organic debris, Hermione made her way to a large, smooth outcropping of rock, Theo following gently behind her by way of their clasped hands. Sitting upon a rock that would have felt at home amongst couches of grandeur, Hermione was pleased when Theo sat beside her, never once breaking their contact. He was scrutinizing her once more, but Hermione didn't feel her defenses rise under his gaze, but rather, felt warmed.

Safe.

His smolder was protective; she felt a knot of tension she hadn't realized she still carried unwind, relax, under his stare.

"Tell me," he urged softly.

"The past few months my mind has run through the 'what-ifs' and 'if-onlys' until I fear my brain will start grinding backwards, if only to halt these trains of thoughts and keep them running off the tracks. I wonder how the war would have gone, had I not made the friends I had during first year." She said, so softly it caused Theo to shift slightly closer in order to catch her words. "I was muggleborn, and had extreme difficulty making friends. I was desperate to fit in to this new world, but my approach could be somewhat abrasive."

She paused, knowing that Ron or Harry would have chuckled or made a side remark, but Theo kept his gaze steady upon her. No sarcastic or amused remark left his lips. Hermione felt her chest expand with a feeling she couldn't identify.

"If I hadn't obtained Ron and Harry's comradry, would I have been involved at all? Would I have been such a target? Would my parents—"

Hermione broke off with a sharp intake of breath, so sharp, so painful that she wrenched her hand from Theo's without notice, her arms wrapping themselves around her torso. Stemming the wound that thoughts of her parents slashed open.

By inadvertently speaking about them, she'd ripped the poultice off the wound their… absence, created.

"Your parents, what?" Theo asked gently.

Hermione shook her head. She'd shared enough, bared enough, of her soul for one day.

She forced a smile upon her lips, the plasticity not appearing to fool Theo, judging by the thinning of his own, but he didn't press her. Instead, he retook her hand in his and resettled himself on the rock so he was looking at her in more head-on position.

"So," he said, "You mentioned that Hagrid knew this Tom Riddle bloke, the pre-Voldemort?"

Hermione was grateful for the change in subject, and began filling Theo in on what Harry, Ron, and she had learned their second year through the diary without mentioning it being a Horcrux. Now wasn't the time for that revelation!

She became incensed when explaining how Hagrid had been unjustly condemned and robbed of his ability to practice magic, and the ingrained prejudice of their magical society towards races they deemed less-than; the ones they labeled 'creatures' and oppressed with degrading laws.

Theo, for his part, was an attentive audience. He rarely interrupted, and his thumb had begun rubbing circles upon hers the more she warmed to her sense of injustice.

"You've given me a lot to digest. Thank you for sharing that with me, Hermione." He said, and she nodded. She could see him almost mentally file away what she'd just told him, pushing it aside to review later.

"We will delve into the history and finer machinations of some of the points you've made and brought forward tonight, Hermione, during your first foray into the Customs and Traditions of Wizarding Society." Theo said.

Hermione giggled. "Merlin, that's a mouthful," she said.

Theo arched a brow. "It slipped my mind before now, how you… embrace abbreviations. Care to create one for our… lessons?" At the word lessons, she saw Theo's eyes flicker down to her lips before snapping back to hold her gaze. "Or have you one already in mind?"

She felt herself blush, for he had her truly pegged. She'd already considered one.

"What about SCAT?"

"Scat?" Said Theo, disgust and amusement seeming to war within his tone as he spat the word.

"Societal Customs and Traditions." Hermione said, a grin spreading across her mouth as she took in his affronted reaction.

"So, if we go with your title, I'll be meeting you in Hogsmeade to review and analyze some… SCAT?" He drawled, and she was please when after a moment of silence he rewarded her with a laugh.

A true laugh, one from the gut.

Not one appropriate for polite company.

' _He has a wonderful laugh!'_ Her stomach flipped at the sound. She wanted to pull another one from his lips.

"Alright Granger, SCAT it is…" he broke off before he chuckled again, shaking his head as he looked at her with bemused eyes.

"What," she asked.

"Just picturing Draco and Blaise's reactions to hearing I'm having meetings about… SCAT!"

Hermione felt laugher bubble up inside her own throat when she though of the looks of horror that would descend across Malfoy's snotty brow or Blaise's haughty veneer.

Theo bent down slightly, his lips descending close to her ear. Hermione felt him tuck a stray strand of hair behind the top of her ear as he whispered, "I truly am looking forward to our date, Hermione."

She felt shivers dance along her arms and up her spine at the caress of his words and the wisp of his breath upon the shell of her ear. Glancing up at him, she met his gaze full on, their faces closer than they'd ever been before.

"As am I, Theo," she said, "as am I."

They passed the next hour discussing lighter topics that didn't include the war, panic attacks or disappointing fathers, before heading back up to the castle; holding hands the entire time. Upon entering through the main double doors, Theo made as if to walk with her to the Gryffindor tower.

"Theo, you don't have to come with me. I'm perfectly fine to walk myself to my tower." Hermione said, then hoped he wouldn't take her tone for condescending.

' _I appreciate the gesture, but honestly!_ ' She thought. They weren't even truly dating, so the long walk for Theo would only result in tired feet.

She could see an internal battle wage itself across his face in the seconds before he pulled down his public mask. He nodded, seemingly a bit pink around the ears.

"Of course. Quite right."

Bringing their still joined hands to his lips, he bestowed a kiss upon the back of Hermione's hand.

"Until the 'morrow." He said, smiling softly down at her.

She smiled up at him warmly and bid him good night, feeling his eyes upon her as she began the climb toward the Gryffindor Tower and her waiting bed.

 **A/N: Thank you to all who've reviewed, it's really motivating hearing your thoughts! I appreciate your words more than you know :)**


	14. Chapter 14

**Legal: I own nothing and am not JK Rowling. I just play in her sandbox.**

 **Chapter 14**

The next morning Theo joined the eighth year Slytherins as they meandered their way sleepily toward the great hall for breakfast.

Theo felt the scratchiness behind his eyes from the midnight oil he'd burned thru the night before. He hadn't been able to shut down his mind; thoughts and questions and emotions swirling around inside his brain until the wee hours of dawn stole for him a few winks.

"Late night?" Drawled Draco, smirking knowingly.

Theo didn't acknowledge the question, just kept walking silently. He heard a muffled laugh to his left — Pansy — then tinny whispers between her and Draco. Theo didn't care that they were probably speculating about his time spent in Granger's company, they could spin theories all they wished, it wouldn't touch the reality of the situation that was developing.

As they slid into their seats they'd occupied the previous day, Theo's gaze rose toward the Gryffindor table, seeking out a glimpse of Granger. He was secretly thrilled to be able to baldly glance over, instead of having to subtly sneak his observations like years past.

"Are you and Granger… friends?" Asked Daphne tentatively, distracting him from his search. She'd apparently witnessed his perusal of the Great Hall —and knowing Daphne, she'd deduced _why_ — and was worrying her lip again. Theo noticed her eyes flickering around her, as if taking the pulse of the atmospheric volatility in reaction to her question.

"We are." Said Theo, unhurriedly ladling porridge into his bowl, topping the steaming oats with cream and brown sugar.

"Please, just be…cautious." She said quietly. He arched a brow; she held his gaze unapologetically.

"Aren't I always?" Theo asked, flashing a self deprecating smile and Daphne snorted before doling out her meal.

"How'd that come about?" Asked Millicent, her plate laden with food that she tucked into with gusto. She'd always had an appetite, but Theo was pleased to see that this year, she seemed determined to embrace her cravings, not deny them based on pressure from her mother to conform to a standard she just wasn't built for.

Theo made to speak but Millie apparently wasn't finished.

"S'not like it would have been… tolerated, prior to this year — your father being who he is — yet you both act incredibly chummy for strangers. I, for one, was right gobsmacked when you two left the common room together last night. And with her willingly too, at that." She shook her head, eyes raised quizzically.

"It was actually her idea," Theo said. "The common room was becoming a tad suffocating."

"But… what could you even talk about? It's not like you'd have anything in common with a mud—" Greg was cut off by Daphne, who'd flicked her wand and silenced his speech. Greg was left gaping like a fish out of water, and Theo clenched his fist under the table to stop himself from casting a harsher spell upon the feckin idiot.

Draco shot Greg a pointed look that had the other boy instantly quelling, and Theo was pleased to see that for all his years of indoctrination, Draco appeared to be finally traveling down the less bigoted road.

"Not the place, Goyle!" Snapped Pansy. Theo saw Blaise cast a disparaging look upon both Greg and Pansy before resuming his aura of peripheral aloofness.

"You mean, not the correct term… Right Pans?" Said Theo, frustrated and unable to hold his tongue any longer. He knew indoctrination took time to unravel and ingrained prejudices to fade, but _Hades_ , it was bloody tedious —the purgatory of wait in between.

" _Obviously_ ," Pansy said, rolling her eyes. Turning to Greg she asked, "You meant muggleborn, right Greg?"

Greg glanced between Pansy and Theo, a look of belligerent confusion adorning his brow before nodding.

"Since when do you attempt to hold court?" Pansy asked Theo, eyes shifting to where Draco sat quietly rather than engaging in his previous behavior of always needing to control the floor.

"That is a conversation not meant for the here and now," said Theo, turning back to his meal and all but dismissing Pansy with the angle of his shoulders.

The rest of their group resumed their meal and previous conversation, unilaterally deciding to leave Greg under the silencing spell for the rest of the meal. As he wasn't well versed in unspoken casting, there was little chance of the spell being lifted until they'd decided.

"Is she…" Tracy gnawed at her lip. "I mean… after everything… we'll, how can she stand to be near you and not utterly detest you?"

"I think," said Theo carefully, "that is a question for you to ask her, Tracy. I abhor when others decide to speak for me, and so won't offer assumptions or pretend to know what propels her thoughts and beliefs."

Having been distracted from his original plan of catching a glimpse of Granger, he glanced again toward where he assumed she sat.

He felt his stomach do a slight flip when he saw her seated, one hand holding open a book and the other a spoon — a spoon that was dripping its contents into her bowl without her notice, engrossed as she was in her conversation with Weasley. Every so often she'd move her wrist, punctuating the air with the spoon and sending droplets of what Theo could only assume was porridge and cream flailing onto her unsuspecting table-mates.

" _Please_ tell me you plan on teaching _that_ one table manners." Said Pansy, eyeing her toast as if it was the offending party — not the Gryffindor witch across the hall — before taking a delicate bite. After daintily chewing and swallowing, she patted her lips with her napkin before saying, "I mean, she did spend all that time with the _other_ Weasley, who could rival a hog when putting away food — both in quantity and…" she purses her lips, "…refinement."

She gave a shudder, before turning fully to Theo. He could see Blaise across from him regarding Pansy with disinterest, though apparently not enough disinterest to stop from listening in altogether.

"As she's currently showering her surroundings in her breakfast fare, I feel it's only self preservation to request we don't eat with someone whose behavior has apparently not advanced past that of a toddler."

Theo found himself bristling at Pansy's dismissal and categorization of Granger. He was about to make a cutting retort but Draco leaned forward around him so he could gawk at Pansy,

"How do you know how the Weasel eats?" Draco demanded. "I didn't realize you'd spent enough time watching him to gain insight."

Theo felt Pansy tense beside him and saw her eyes flash before she schooled her mask, her lips rising in her signature malicious lilt.

"Why Draco, surely you realize that, as one of _Potter's_ best mates, and me, one of yours —"

"Says you," coughed Draco, and Theo saw Pansy's eyes narrow.

' _Bloody, fucking arsehole. How many times do I have to tell him, don't piss on those in your circle."_ Theo fumed, his back already up due to Pansy's cattiness and he felt his frustration with Draco's lack of humility and common sense spike quicker than usual.

Pansy's voice lost whatever playful edge it'd contained and began dripping icicles as she continued. "—you'd realize that I'd have seen many instances of Weasley's eating due to your _constant_ observations of bloody, fucking Potter! Observations you repeatedly brought to my attention, thusly resulting in my own forced witness to Weasley's appalling and lacking manners and decorum."

Turning to Theo she bit out, "If you plan on subjecting us to _her_ , Theodore, especially at mealtimes, at least ensure she's decently acquainted with how to properly use cutlery and table linens and chews with her mouth closed."

"She is not a _pet_ , Pansy. Nor is she to be found lacking. Not that your stipulation would prevent me from asking, but if she ever does join us for a meal, I dare say, she may just naturally show you up, with how on-point her manners are."

"She—" sputtered Pansy, waving toward where Granger and Weasley were still engaged in their conversation, but Theo cut her off.

"She, is at breakfast — an informal meal at best — and is in a conversation with a friend. She is surrounded by her own, and not shackled by the weight of constantly guarding her actions." He raised an eyebrow, throwing his gaze toward Blaise who'd been in the slug club with her to add his voice to the fray.

Blaise rolled his eyes, distain for being dragged into the apparent banality of this conversation emanating from him. "She navigated herself around a soup spoon as well as those in mother's tea circle, and appeared adept at navigating the proper cutlery selection for the courses served."

Theo nodded his thanks; Blaise gave a small nod in welcome.

"Her freedom is worth envying," said Tracy, joining in the conversation. "No one's hexed or yelled at her for getting clumps of oats on their robes. They just spell it off with a good natured laugh. There's less… rigidity, amongst those of her house."

Theo smothered a laugh as she threw Pansy a disgruntled glare.

"What has you in such a snit Pansy?" Asked Daphne, sipping her tea. Theo saw her wince slightly before putting the cup back in the saucer, steam rising steadily from the anemic looking liquid.

Pansy pursed her lips but didn't say anything, just continued eating her toast in polite mulishness.

"Pansy?" Said Daphne softly, concern fluttering across her face. Pansy was typically standoffish and blunt, but not downright caustic — at least not to this degree.

"Oh bloody— fine! You'll all learn of it soon enough."

Pansy laid down the slice of bread she'd been eating, wiped her hands with her napkin and folded them in her lap.

"I heard from mother last night. She sent word through one of our house elves, didn't want me finding out by surprise this morning."

"What—" Millicent began.

"Father's been arrested, and will be held at Azkaban until his trial in two months." Pansy's spine was rigid, her eyes daring anyone to pity her. "They're angling for at least two decades, possibly more."

There was no pity, only solidarity. For a moment, silence hovered like a blanket over them. Noses were scratched, throats cleared, weighted glances were exchanged.

"Welcome, new member of the 'Disappointing Father's' club," Draco raised his glass and gave Pansy a mocking toast before downing his pumpkin juice. His eyes, Theo noticed, had turned stormy and introspective. Theo caught her eye, and his previous annoyance fell away as he saw the naked rawness behind her steeled veneer.

"But it's been almost four months! Why would they be arresting him now? He wasn't even affiliated, not officially. Nothing provable." Said Millicent.

"Apparently, the aurors were tipped off about father's rather… extensive… collection of wares and tomes that mostly straddle the line between light and dark magic, as well as some rather ambiguous financial investments that don't have proper documentation. And seeing as he's been a rather public acquaintance of and friend to many of the Dark Lord's followers, those in power apparently don't want to let any grass grow roots below his feet upon these discoveries. Mother said it'll be in the prophet, though most of those articles are completely biased against our lot, and not worth the parchment they're printed on. She wanted me to have the verified information firsthand."

Their conversation was interrupted by a flurry of wings above their head and the sound of hoots filling the Great Hall as owls soared through the clerestory windows. As they dove and wove through the tables, depositing their missives to their respective recipients, Theo noticed two owls appearing to head straight for Granger.

"Looks like someone's getting a howler," said Draco, eyeing the smaller, pathetic looking creature struggling along behind the larger, more robust bird heading straight toward the Gryffindor table. There was a smoking red envelope clutched in the little bird's talons, waiting for the moment it touched skin to ignite and spew forth its vitriol. Theo glanced toward Granger, and saw her face ashen at its approach, though she did manage to shoot her hand up to catch the other, regular envelope from the larger bird.

The hall had quieted save for whispers as most heads had turned to watch the smoking red envelope's delivery and to hear the anticipated message. Howlers weren't frequently sent, so when one was spotted it captivated everyone's attention. With a glance around his own, Theo realized all heads of the eighth years were fixated on Granger with varying degrees of anticipation — one or two even with empathy — etched upon their faces.

Theo felt his chest tighten, and his face heat. It took him a moment to identify the emotion coursing through him.

Protectiveness. He hadn't felt that in years, not since…

Suddenly, Weasley shot to her feet. "Bombarda Maxima!" She cried, and with a streak of white light the envelope burst apart, screeching and squelching unintelligibly as it disintegrated. The poor bird carrying it was blasted sideways, adding its own voice to the cacophony of sounds echoing around the large room. It flew a few feet before catching itself upon a mantle, where it ended up resting for the remainder of their meal period.

The Great Hall had gone utterly still and silent at Weasley's intervention. Even the professors appeared flustered or agog.

"Mate, check out Blaise," whispered Draco, subtly nudging Theo's arm.

Theo snuck a peak at the typically stalwart and aloof Slytherin and had to hold himself back from doing a double take at the expression upon Blaise's face.

"Well I'll be damned…" whispered Theo, "something actually pierced his 'no-fucks-given' armour…"

"And it's little Gryffindor _Weasley_ to boot!" Crowed Draco.

"What?" Asked Weasley loudly, spinning around slowly, apparently realizing the attention her actions had drawn from the hall. "Hasn't anyone ever thought to try that before?"

She looked around quizzicality and appeared surprised by the numerous amount of heads shaking 'no' throughout the hall.

"In that case, happy to have provided some enlightenment. Never need fear another attempt at public humiliation by those too cowardly to do it face to face." She gave a mock bow, and settled back into her seat.

"Miss Weasley!" Said Porfessor Mcgonagall, rising to her feet at the head table, "As honorable as your intentions may be, kindly refrain from creating havoc in the breakfast hall, or terrorizing our mail delivery system in the future."

"Will do, Professor," Theo heard Weasley say as the headmistress reclaimed her seat, and he made an impetuous decision.

' _That was bloody brilliant._ ' He thought, standing and beginning a one-man ovation.

Heads whipped around as his loud confident claps echoed throughout the hall. Murmer spread like bees buzzing around a hive at the novelty of a Slytherin engaging in a public spectacle, especially one in support of a Gryffindor. What appeared to tip the scales of incredulity was the fact that he was a known Death Eater's son and she one of the student body's esteemed leaders in the rebellion the year prior, if his ear were hearing some of the whispered correctly.

He didn't give two shits that he was again flouting years of ingrained prejudicial behaviors and thinking for himself. He recalled the look of relief that had fluttered over Granger's face when the envelope exploded, and knew little Weasley had earned a favor from him — maybe even two, if he was feeling so inclined — for her act of quick thinking and kindness.

"Adeptly handled, Weasley," Theo said with a curt yet friendly nod, his voice carrying without the use of a sonorous charm, even over the rising din. He was pleased when she returned his praise with a smile and a triumphant nod of her own, before turning back to Granger. Theo's gaze swung to the witch across from her, whose full attention was steadily upon him, an expression between amusement, exasperation and gratitude warring upon her face.

He beamed, a tugging of his lips that almost felt foreign considering how little use those muscles truly got. He was rewarded almost immediately with her face breaking into her own soft, almost begrudging smile, her arms crossing as if to hold in her full amusement.

As Weasley had said, no one should be humiliated or yelled at publicly; least of all in such a cowardly format, he thought, glad the obviously offending message had been dismissed without harm done to the intended.

' _If I'm to dress someone down, I damn well want to look them in the eye while I'm doing it!'_ He thought. ' _Not hiding behind enchanted parchment while the rest of the world looks on as gleeful voyeurs.'_

He wasn't left standing and clapping alone for more than a few seconds before he felt Draco rise beside him, along with, astonishingly, Blaise; their clapping adding to his and thundering around the hall. They were also verbally parlaying their approval of Weasley's gesture over the rising voices of the rest of the student body.

"Messers Nott, Malfoy and Zabini!" Professor McGonagall had stood once again, this time her face a mix of consternation and resignation. "As amused and supportive as you appear to be over Miss Weasley's wand work, I demand you reclaim your seats and cease disrupting the meal at once."

"What the fuck was that?" Asked Pansy as Draco, Blaise, and he sat back in their place on the benches and everyone around them rained their meal, all the while whispering behind hands and glassware.

"You're just sore you didn't think of doing that last year, when your mother sent—" Millicent was smirking as she began taunting her, but Pansy cut her off with a wave of her hand.

"I meant, since when does Blaise join anything publicly, especially without something in it for him?" Blaise shot her a bland look, his expression giving nothing away as to his motivation of joining the public ovation. "And you Theo, you're… you're different this year."

"Pans, were all different this year."

"True, but you're…" she shook her head and appeared frustrated at not being able to identify exactly what had changed. "You're just, not the same Theo as in previous years. It's… it's disconcerting."

"You're right Pansy. I'm not the same as before," Theo said simply. "I'm finally able to just be me."

oOo-xXx-oOo

"So Granger, any idea who sent the Howler?" Theo fell into step beside her on their way to Herbology later that day. He'd wanted to give her some time and space between this morning's event and when he approached, and had thusly waited until their afternoon lesson to chat her up.

"Oh, I have more than an idea."

Theo glanced over, and felt himself warm at the hint of menace he saw glimmering behind her warm cocoa eyes.

"Intriguing…"

"More like completely unsubtle, exasperating and utterly predictable. Intriguing would be if he _hadn't_ sent a letter intending to chastise and humiliate in one fell swoop, and instead, had acted like a true mate would."

They'd reached the greenhouses, and instead of joining those from his house, he slid in next to Granger along the workbench she'd chosen and began pulling out his tools and gloves in preparation for the lesson.

Other than a brief glance in his direction coupled with a slight upward tug to her lips, she gave no indication that his seating arrangement was out of the norm.

"I'm assuming by 'he' you mean…" Theo trailed off, hoping Granger would fill in the rest.

"You can probably infer."

"Weasley then," he said, nodding his head definitively. "Potter doesn't seem the type. Unless it was addressed to Draco."

He was rewarded with her laughter — a true, belly laugh — that sent a shiver of pleasure up his spine, though she didn't confirm nor deny his assumption. Her silence said more than words however.

"You made quite a stir this morning."

She'd turned her head and was looking at him. Her wayward curls were framed by diffused light entering through the greenhouse's opaque walls, giving her an almost ethereal presence. She wasn't so backlit, however, as to make conversing challenging; he needn't squint against the glare.

"Why Granger, I've not the faintest idea what you're on about."

He couldn't contain the smile that stretched across his face like that of a court jester.

Another laugh escaped through her parted lips, this time a low rumble, more a purr than a full chuckle.

"And here I was under the assumption snakes preferred to remain in the shade, not striking out in the open air and drawing attention to oneself. It appears…" she tapped her finger against her lips, drawing his eyes there briefly, "An apology is in order."

She held out her hand, and he was disappointed to find she'd already donned her work gloves, preventing him from experiencing once again the soft coolness of her skin against his. Nevertheless, Theo grasped her hand, giving it a perfunctory shake before regrettably releasing her palm.

"My deepest apologies, for assumptions without substantiating evidence." She quirked a brow and Theo felt his heart quicken as her mouth tilted up, a smirk flirting with her lips.

"I do believe studious observations are in order," she continued, teasing him. "What would you say to meeting me tomorrow evening for some… research?"

"Are you asking me on a study date Granger?" Theo nudged her shoulder with his.

"I am," she flashed a smile.

"In that case," Theo bent his head close to hers, pressing his lips just slightly against the lobe of her ear as he spoke. He felt her shiver at his light touch. "I very much accept, Hermione."

 **A/N: Thank you to everyone who reviews, your words keep me going and are so incredibly appreciated!**


	15. Chapter 15

**Legal: I own nothing, and make no money from this story.**

 **Chapter 15**

"I can't believe that brother of mine sometimes." Ginny was lying on her bed, legs raised and feet propped against the headboard. She was throwing a miniature stuffed quaffle into the air and catching it, the movement almost hypnotic in its rhythm.

"Ronald has a propensity toward rudeness." said Luna in her straightforward lilting tone. She was sitting on the empty bed that had belonged to Lavender, across from Hermione in the room shared by the seventh year Gryffindor girls and Hermione. "He tends to allow his emotions to take the reins before —."

"He realizes he's cocked it all up." Ginny interjected, nodding, "and attempts to make amends."

"His heart is in the right place, but his tongue can leave much to be desired at times." Agreed Hermione, having been on the lancing end of his tongue many times. She was perched atop her bedspread, Harry's letter smoothed out in front of her, beside a fresh piece of parchment that contained the beginning of her reply. "Though it seems this time, it appears he didn't mean to send a howler."

Ginny snorted. "More like he regretted sending it right after and tried to think of a way around your wand."

"Why'd Ron accidentally send you a howler?" Padma asked. Luna had been somewhat filled in by Ginny during their classes, but Padma was completely in the dark.

"I'd assume it's because Seamus made good on his promise."

Padma's face remained blank.

"He ran telling tales to Harry and Ron about her 'consorting with the enemy' apparently, or so Dean said when he came over at lunch apologizing for Seamus's meddling." Said Ginny.

"Seamus apparently felt the need relay the news of my befriending a Slytherin to those he felt would 'get my head on straight' — his words. And, not just any Slytherin, but one whose father was an esteemed Death Eater who physically made attempts on our lives."

Silence blanketed the room momentarily, as everyone withdrew to thoughts of their own war time experiences, near misses and violent encounters.

"Malfoy's dad wasn't a nice man; I overheard more than I wished to while captive. But Draco…" Luna began but broke off, peering out the window, her perpetually impenetrable demeanor shifting to one, Hermione thought, radiated raw melancholia. "Draco has kindness in him — I've first hand knowledge of that — tempered by the shackles of his upbringing. There's hope that son will be different than father, if he can continue to prune back that which entraps him, poisons him."

Luna looked around her then, and Hermione saw grief and hope warring across her face. It was such an unusual expression upon Luna's face that she felt unsettled — since they hadn't been talking about Draco — and Luna never referenced her time spent in the dungeons under Malfoy Manor.

"Theodore Nott is _nothing_ like his father." Luna stated, her eyes staring directly into Hermione's. "Always trust your instincts Hermione, they've served you well; also trust the negliwrasps."

"Negli-what?" Asked Hermione, knowing before Luna answered that whatever they were was utter nonsense… not that she'd admit that out loud. She'd learned the value of biting her tongue in this respect.

"Negliwrasps. They are drawn to and hover around those with unscrupulous intentions, and splintered souls. The Death Eaters were all surrounded by clouds of them, Draco's had one or two following him, though at a distance since fifth year, and Theodore, well, he's had none, the entire time he's been at school."

"None?" Breathed Hermione, knowing she'd probably have had at least one hovering around her during fifth year when she'd willingly cursed the DA parchment, and thus, Marietta. The permanence of the curse could be validly considered unscrupulous in nature.

That is, if Luna was to be believed and negliwrasps were, in fact, real.

"How did you see them Luna?" Asked Ginny as Luna shook her head in confirmation at Hermione. "I've never seen anything around or following Malfoy, and Merlin knows Harry pointed him out enough that my attention would have seen something at _some_ point."

"Oh they're very subtle, you must know what to look for before they'll manifest. It's one of those 'you wonder how you missed it' sort of creature, like a bowtruckle."

"But Luna, there have been legitimate _,_ documented sightings of Bowtruckles…" began Hermione, but broke off from a look from Ginny.

"So what did Harry's letter contain, Hermione, other than letting you know to expect a howler from Ron?" Asked Ginny, turning her head to survey her friend. "You didn't really mention earlier."

Hermione could hear the feigned nonchalance behind the question, and wondered again at how her two friends had left their relationship, be it friendship or carrying on from before Harry's year on the run. Hermione had never gotten a bead on their dynamic once the war was over, she'd had other priorities to sort and muddle through, and hadn't bothered herself overmuch about it at the time.

"Have a look." Hermione said, rolling it up again and tossing it toward the other bed. Ginny scooped up the scroll, unrolled it and began to read silently. Having already read it over, Hermione knew the words that Ginny's eyes were taking in, and felt a stone settle in her stomach as she realized how Ginny might feel by the end. To her knowledge, Harry had yet to write Ginny since term started.

 **' _Dear Hermione,_**

 _ **It feels a bit off, writing you at Hogwarts instead of talking to you in person. I reckon it's a bit of a breather to not have us constantly needling you for homework help, though also rather dull I'd assume.**_

 _ **Seamus owled Ron and I about you 'consorting with the enemy', or rather, Theodore Nott. Can't say I know much about the bloke, other than his father was a Death Eater, but I asked Kingsley at work about him after Seamus's note as he dealt with the Death Eater's families during the trials, and he says that Theodore seems a right sort. No hesitation, didn't even bat an eye despite associations.**_

 _ **I know you're waiting for me to warn you off befriending Slytherins, and if it was before the war, I definitely would have.**_

 _ **I meant what I said, though, that day at the Ministry, Hermione. I'm determined to keep an open mind and to see beyond the house and family name. I want to put this bloody war behind us.**_

 _ **That said, how are the Slytherins holding up? Who returned? Did Malfoy? I wonder if he's different now, with Lucius incarcerated and losing… well, after everything… or is he still a poncy git?**_

 _ **I'm glad to hear you're making new friends… I was a bit worried that without Ron and I there — yes, I know Ginny and Luna are there with you too! — that you'd spend all your time in the library.**_

 _ **(Don't roll your eyes Hermione, it's a fair concern!)**_

 _ **Hopefully this new friendship won't lead to another seven years of near-death experiences for you. Har har.**_

 _ **Best** ,_

 _ **Harry**_

 _ **PS: Auror training is bloody brutal! I'm right knackered, but it's too brilliant to winge about over much. We even get to duel next week! I'll tell you more when I see you, which will be in two days time. We got permission to come up for weekend. Say hello to Ginny for me, I'm looking forward to seeing her.**_

There was a splotch of ink, and then in a different hand, written at the bottom:

 _ **PPS: Bloody Hell! 'Lo Hermione. Ron here, the letter I just wrote you — that my ruddy owl's already flown off with — honest, I didn't mean to send you a howler! Though I'm not exactly chuffed you've begun consorting with snakes, Harry can vouch that I wrote you a decent note on anormal looking parchment I'd found in the sideboard. Then it started smoking and turned red in front of our eyes and attached itself to my ruddy owl's foot. Hopefully you get this —Harry's — letter first…so you know I'm not proper mad or anything. If not, then… we'll, I'll see you and Ginny soon as Harry said, please don't sic your birds on me…'**_

Ginny raised her head.

"Well, that was…" she broke off and rolled onto her back once again. The sound of the quaffle being tossed and caught began again, this time with a bit more force behind the throws.

"Gin?" Said Hermione.

"I'm fine," Ginny said. "Fine. I knew it was going to be different, but…"

"Fancy a walk?" Asked Hermione, exchanging a glance with Luna. Ginny sat up and threw her legs over the side of the bed.

"No, I'm too restless to walk. I need… I need to fly!" She hopped from the bed and threw on her quidditch robes, picking up her broom after tying her hair back with a leather tie.

"Enjoy your flight, Ginny. I'm going to head back to mine, want to start on the Herbology assignment due Friday." Said Padma, rising from where she sat. Luna also rose.

"I'll walk with you," she said, gathering her satchel and nodding toward Padma.

"I know you aren't one for flying, Hermione, but fancy walking with me to the pitch?" Asked Ginny, her eyes bright and fierce.

"Hang on a moment," said Hermione, reaching for the woolen jumper from fifth year and sliding it over her head, a sigh escaping as she realized the snug fit she'd enjoyed at the end of sixth year had disappeared. Instead, the jumper hung almost loose around her, highlighting the lack of calories the previous year on the run had afforded her. "Right, let's head down. I'll watch from the stands."

"Luna, I'll come see you when I'm back ok, and we'll work on our transfiguration homework together?"

Luna smiled and gave Ginny an understanding smile at her suggestion.

"Have a good flight Ginny." Said Luna serenely, and her and Padma followed Ginny and Hermione down the dormitory stairs and out of the common room.

oOo-xXx-oOo

"So… Ginny." Hermione began, searching for the right words as they made their way down the main staircase toward the entrance doors. "What's going on with you and Harry?"

Ginny laughed mirthlessly. "Honestly, Hermione, I don't bloody know anymore. I thought, after the war, he'd be ready for some normalcy, for… me. But then so many died, so many we _loved_ died, my family is splintered and Teddy's an orphan. I know Harry feels guilty about all of it, and I don't want to push him but for Merlin's Effin' sake, I'm right _here_ and I'm grieving too and he's…"

Ginny finally took a breath, her words tapering off from lack of oxygen. In a quieter tone she said, "he's not… I mean, he's focused and fixated on justice, righting wrongs, and we had exactly a week, one bloody week, where it was just us and we were healing together. He wasn't the 'Boy-who-Lived-Again' or 'The Chosen One', he was just Harry. My Harry. And then, the trials began, and all he could talk about was ensuring no miscarriages of justice occurred, and Draco sodding Malfoy, about making sure he spoke up for both him and his mum and suddenly he wasn't my Harry anymore. He was… he was 'The Chosen One' again. But, _different_ , this time around."

Hermione stayed silent, knowing Ginny needed to vent, needed a safe place for her words and emotions to fall, be heard, be acknowledged.

"I'm tired of competing, Hermione. Competing with the ghosts of loved ones passed, competing with his sense of duty, competing with Malfoy. It always seems to revolve back to him for some reason, has for years I think."

She looked away for a moment then back toward Hermione. "I have my own grief to wade through, my own self to rebuild... last year was... it was an absolute bloody nightmare here Hermione... and the dead... I adored Sirius and Tonks, I respected Professor Lupin and ache for little Teddy and Andromeda, and Fred… oh Merlin, Freddy…" Ginny's voice hitched, her lip quivered, and the granite that made up her bones and the resilience in her veins crumbled. Hermione's heart throbbed in sorrow as she watched Ginny brake down, pulling the other witch into her arms and letting her cry.

Behind the mask. Hermione knew Ginny was as shattered and disheartened as them all, though she'd learned early on to shore it all up and lock it away tight; that adults didn't concern themselves with the trivialities of the younger generation's traumas and stressors; their emotional reactions were uncomfortable to bear, and unseemly at most. Best to sweep everything under the rug with a pat on the head, a warm bowl of soup and a list of chores to stave off idle hands and thoughts.

Hermione thought the whole attempt and mindset was utter rubbish, and had an immense respect for Ginny's internal fortitude.

She'd been through more than most could imagine, Ginny had, having fought off Tom Riddle's possession as a first year, and Hermione knew none of what she'd gone through that year had ever been properly addressed.

Not by an adult, at least; not by someone who could actually _do_ something for the traumatized eleven year old too afraid to sleep without an illuminated bluebell jar beside her bed for years after and who never wrote in a notebook ever again.

Hermione and Ginny spent many summer nights chatting about that year over the many that followed, when Ginny felt brave enough to open up about it. In the dead of night, surrounded by dim shadows and the sounds of nocturnal insects and the steady babbling of the distant brook, Ginny had opened up about what having Tom Riddle possessing you felt like… she purged her sorrows into the bedroom's stillness — her anger, her fears, her embarrassments, and her regrets — and Hermione had steadfastly listened and absorbed it all, murmuring comfort when appropriate but typically just being there as support for her friend who'd endured so much so young.

She'd never blamed Ginny for being the catalyst of her paralysis that year, and Hermione felt, if anything, that it offered a balm of sorts to Ginny having one of the basilisk's victims absolve her of the burden of accountability. Merlin knew that Dumbledore had merely patted her on the back and sent her away with a lemon drop and a request to not discuss the matter to anyone. No offers of assistance, no discussion as to her mental state and adjusting post possession.

To her knowledge, Mr. and Mrs. Weasley had taken their lead from Dumbledore, and hadn't broached the subject with their daughter.

Hermione found the whole matter appalling — how the adult wizards and witches in charge had reacted and swept everything under the carpet — even years later. Maybe _this_ would be a topic that could be breached with Theo during their 'Wizarding Customs' discussion.

Hermione wondered, not for the first time, why the Wizarding world had no mental health healers, or even discussions surrounding that particular branch of medical focus. It was as if the turning of a blind eye upon events and circumstances that negatively impacted mental health was embraced culturally, to their detriment.

Following war, the immense healing that the Wizarding community would need — both physically and mentally — was beyond current measure and resources, and the lack of foresight and even acknowledgment that this would be an area of necessity and benefit was baffling to her.

' _My muggle is showing,'_ she thought, rubbing her hand up and down Ginny's back as the sobs lessened. With a surreptitious wipe to her own eyes, Hermione waited until Ginny pulled back slightly before bracing her hands on her friend's shoulders.

"Still up for a fly?"

"Absolutely!" Ginny stated, and with a swish of her wand, the only evidence of her breakdown were overly bright eyes.

Hermione contemplated how to say what she felt needed to be said.

As they began walking she said, "Ginny, neither of you should fall into something just because it used to fit. You are both different than who you were over a year ago. It'd be disrespectful to not acknowledge those changes, as you do yourselves a disservice by glossing over your new and missing parts. You'll either grow together as a couple, or regrow separately as friends. But you both need to step back and take stock I think."

She chewed her lower lip, waiting for Ginny's response. As Ginny opened her mouth to speak, an adenoidal voice interrupted them.

"Well, well well… If it isn't Granger and Weasley, out for an evening stroll."

oOo-xXx-oOo

 **A/N: Thank you to all who've reviewed and commented! You brighten my days with your theories and interest and kind words!**


	16. Chapter 16

**Legal: I own nothing but the plot and make no money.**

 **Chapter 16**

Hermione and Ginny spun round when they heard Malfoy's voice, and Hermione wasn't entirely shocked to see Parkinson accompanying him, both dressed for outdoors and Malfoy's broom slung casually over his right shoulder. What did shock Hermione, however, was the expression on Malfoy's face as he regarded them.

The tone and words were reminiscent of their interactions of years past, though his face was devoid of his ever-present derisive sneer. As she surreptitiously assessed him, she was surprised to notice his eyes appeared bright with mischief and something else she couldn't quite articulate. His lips wore a sardonic smirk, rather than his standard pout of unpleasantness.

"Malfoy, Parkinson," Hermione nodded at them, her expression carefully neutral. These were Theo's mates, and as of right then she had no quarrel with either Slytherin. There was history that at some point would need to be sorted, but at the moment, they were four students, standing in a corridor, ready to venture out onto the grounds.

Ginny mirrored her greeting.

"Ah, new broom. I see it's not too substandard a model, Weasley, might even hold up decently against my own. Fancy a scrimmage?" He said, nodding toward the broom Harry had purchased for Ginny over the summer. His taunt lacked bite, however, as the broom Ginny clutched in her grasp was the newest release in the Firebolt line — a point Ron couldn't stop harping on about over the summer to Hermione's exasperation — whereas Malfoy still flew what appeared to be his broom from second year.

Despite not sleeping, eating and breathing Quidditch like her mates, it was hard to forget the broom that was forever entwined in her subconscious with her introduction to the word _Mudblood._

Hermione saw Ginny's hand grip the wood of her broom tighter, her knuckles whitening before she relaxed slightly, tossing her hair over her shoulder as she did when excited. Her eyes glinted in competitive anticipation and her lips pulled back into slightly feral smile. Hermione found Malfoy's self deprecating humor — a rarity for him, she was sure — almost… endearing, everything considered.

"You're on, Malfoy. But first, we need to discuss terms." Ginny flashed her teeth, though this time with more warmth.

"Indeed," nodded Malfoy, and as he did, Hermione felt as if he thawed somewhat. It wasn't anything she could tangibly describe, but having Ginny accept his scrimmage offer seemed to have slightly smoothed the lines fanning from his eyes and across his brow, and his posture had softened, becoming less… taut. He looked… lighter, less guarded.

Hermione glanced to his left, where Parkinson hovered, an uncomfortable energy vibrating off her. Her customary look of distain painted her features, and she stood regally, arms crossed and chin raised, but there was a wariness about her. For all that she appeared resigned to waiting on Malfoy as he and Ginny began stating terms, Hermione could see little fissures in her aloof veneer.

The pinch around her eyes as they threw sharpened, darting glances. The way her fingers twitched as if preparing to reach for her wand if necessary. The way that despite her ramrod posture, there was the sense that without her arms folded aggressively, she'd have crumpled in slightly.

"I guess we're the cheering section," said Hermione, giving Parkinson a small smile. She was determined to at the very least be civil, if not friendly. For all the years they'd attended Hogwarts together, Hermione reflected that she'd really had scant run-ins with the witch in front of her. Millicent Bullstrode had been the Slytherin thorn in her side on numerous occasions, but Parkinson…

She realized with a jolt that most of her antipathy and mistrust of the witch stemmed from Harry's influence, and as much as she loved Harry, she could acknowledge he was completely obtuse when it came to analyzing and observing human behavior, and quick to project his own beliefs and judgements onto a person or situation.

"So it appears," replied Parkinson, inspecting her long, perfectly maintained fingernails, though falling into step beside Hermione as they followed Ginny and Malfoy who'd begun walking down toward the pitch.

"No, I say we should have a mix of seeking and chasing." Ginny was saying, "Play to both our strengths. Keep it fair."

"If you want to stick with chasing only, I'm on board with that." Said Malfoy, shrugging, causing Ginny to squint at him suspiciously. "I actually prefer chasing, if I'm honest, Weasley. I only played seeker here to appease Father." he spit the word as one would a poisonous sunflower seed. "He deemed it the only position worth playing and therefore supporting. And of course, for the opportunity to best Potter." He grinned pompously at that, but ruined the effect by rolling his eyes simultaneously.

Hermione was flummoxed by this open, less abrasive version of the boy she'd grown up alongside. She wondered at how at ease she was beginning to feel alongside this version of the boy she'd once slapped, who Harry'd almost killed with an unsanctioned hex, and that they'd all thoroughly detested.

"Which you never managed to do." Said Ginny automatically, then scrunched her nose and rubbed at her face. They both saw Malfoy wince at her words.

"No I didn't…" he said, and looked off toward the castle.

"Sorry," Ginny said after a beat, and Hermione could hear genuine contriteness under her sharp words. "Knee jerk reaction. It's hard, to turn off the knowledge that you've been a git from the start to pretty much everyone I love, in one capacity or another. And you bringing up your father…" she liked away, shuddering and Hermione guessed she was thinking back to her first year and the fallout from a harmless looking book, along with the battle at the ministry where they'd faced off against Malfoy Sr.

Malfoy halted and squinted at her for a long moment, his face a mask of granite that did nothing to hide the despondency of his gaze.

"Maybe this wasn't a good idea." Said Malfoy finally, beginning to turn around back whence they came. Hermione and Parkinson had come to a stop just behind them, and Hermione could see trepidation and anger — was that… disappointment? — playing out across the other witch's face as Malfoy took a few steps in their direction.

Ginny's hand reached out and attached itself to Malfoy's arm. They all looked at it, her pale, lightly freckled fingers wrapped around the soft grey leather straps of his Quidditch robe's arm guard. She heard Ginny sigh heavily as he shot a raised eyebrow in her direction, and was surprised when he made no cutting remark or made to shake Ginny off.

Removing her hand from his arm, Ginny instead held it out to him.

"Weasley, Ginny Weasley. It's been said that I'm stubborn as a doxy and speak my mind without restraint. That said, you've been a right proper arsehole to pretty much everyone over the years Malfoy, even your mates. Though I understand now, to a point, why you were, and really don't envy the position you were in because of your father. Hopefully this past year has put your obnoxious tosser inclinations to rest. I am fiercely loyal to those I consider friends, but am not blind or daft to their faults and can be quite forgiving when the mood strikes me. I'm a firm believer in second chances, and am always open to the possibility of new friendships. I'm a right wicked Quiddich player, creative with jinxes and hexes — so best stay on my good side — and I'm fluent in humor and pranks. It's a pleasure to make your re-acquaintance."

She stood there, her hand hovering in the void between her and Malfoy. Parkinson, Hermione noticed, was staring at Ginny with blatant disbelief, as if she wasn't quite certain what she was witnessing or hearing. Malfoy's gaze was darting between Ginny and Hermione, who was staring at him in open contemplation. She wondered if he'd grasp Ginny's olive branch, or if his ego would forbid him show his underbelly.

"Malfoy, Draco Malfoy," he drawled finally, grasping Ginny's hand firmly and shaking it before turning it up and, like Theo the day before, kissed the back of it lightly before releasing it. "I'm… finding my way, re-evaluating previously ingrained beliefs and doing my best to not revert back to my — what was it? — obnoxious tossed inclinations. I realize I've been a right git over the years, and appreciate the opportunity to reacquaint myself with differing opinions and those I've… purposely avoided. I'm incredibly magically talented, adore my mother beyond measure and would do literally anything for, and I wager I'll wipe the pitch with you very soon." He flashed a smile and Ginny laughed.

"Not bad, Malfoy… not bad at all." She said.

"Has everyone gone barmy this year?" Said Parkinson, running her fingers through her sleek, perfectly coiffed hair.

' _Damn but she has lovely hair,'_ thought Hermione, feeling a twinge of wistful resentment flutter in her chest as she resolutely kept her own hand from tugging the errant curl currently tickling her ear.

"I mean, what the bleeding fuck is going on? First Theo's acting strange and cuddling up to Granger over here, and now you two are… what?" Her voice had climbed almost an octave by the time she finished, and her lips had thinned.

"Starting over," stated Ginny, apparently finding Parkinson amusing, judging by the twinkle in her eye as she surveyed the witch at Hermione's side. "We'll work out the details later, I'm sure some hexing and yelling will be in order before the hatchet can be fully buried."

Hermione covered the laugh that escaped unbidden with her hand, noticing as she did that Malfoy looked slightly ill at the thought of being at the end of their two wands.

"Right…" he drawled. "Well, when you decide to extract your pound of flesh, please send me a formal invitation to the event thought my personal owl. Wouldn't want to mess up your anticipated revenge by being tardy."

"Consider it quilled," said Ginny and the two appraised each other. No longer enemies but neither were they friends, Hermione was pleased to note.

"Granger?"

She saw the undisguised hope behind his silver orbs.

"As Ginny said, we'll sort out the details later. But as of now, I'm amenable to a fresh start."

He nodded, a true grin gracing his features at her words. Hermione heard Parkinson scoff beside her.

Despite her words, Hermione still had reservations. Numerous emotions whirled around inside her at the thought of becoming mere acquaintances with Draco Malfoy, let alone the possibility of a true friendship.

He was so indelibly linked to negative parts of her childhood and all that her, Ron and Harry had endured; standing from the vantage point of both the condemner, and the condemned.

He was the reason she'd learned that vile slur that was now permanently branded on the inside of her arm, at the ripe age of thirteen.

He was the reason she'd aged over and above the age limit she'd agreed upon with Professor McGonagall, back in third year, due to the extra time-turner use she'd employed compiling the defense for Buckbeak.

He'd caused her to snap and actually hit him — physically assaulting him. In all other areas of disagreement or vindication in the magical world she'd utilized her wand, but he'd reduced her to retaliating like the common muggle he felt was so beneath him.

He'd been a bigoted arsehole.

He'd also warned them — well, warned Harry — to hide her, get her to safety, during the masked revelry following the Quidditch World Cup. Warned them despite her being a muggleborn and therefore a worthy target of the night's actions.

He'd helped them, without benefit to himself.

He'd been turned into a ferret, a creature with bones so brittle that she knew from Madame Pomfrey — in confidence — that it'd taken quite a large amount of potions and spells to right the damage inflicted by Crouch Jr bouncing him around without care. Despite how foul he was to those outside his precious inner circle, she'd known even then that no one — at least no student — deserved what Malfoy had endured.

He had suffered for his father's allegiance, rather than his own actions in that instance.

He'd deferred identifying them last year to his aunt and father, an act he must have known would result in himself being subjected to their displeasure, once exposed.

Yet he'd given them that potential, that possibility of escape, by not gleefully revealing their identities and instead stammering and delaying.

If you stripped away the trappings, Hermione realized he was just as scared, just as scarred, just as flawed as the rest of them trying to rebuild from the ashes of the war that had spanned the past two decades.

"Please spare me the same verbal sewage Granger." Said Pansy, as they began following their respective friends once more.

"And here I was, ready to make us friendship bracelets. Shame that." Quipped back Hermione. She caught Pansy's eye, and suppressed a smile as the other witch wrestled to hide her baffled expression.

They walked in silence save for the sounds their feet made in the uneven ground until they entered the pitch.

"So many bloody stairs," Hermione heard Pansy mutter under her breath.

"It's less than climbing Gryffindor tower, or even the Astronomy tower." Said Hermione, shrugging.

Pansy continued on as if she hadn't heard, and they climbed up the rickety stairs with only their thoughts between them until they came upon the open stands. They'd headed to the Slytherin section, Hermione deferring to the direction Parkinson had sauntered, uncaring where she sat, in full honesty. It was just a bunch of seats, set between banners of their house.

Green and silver.

Not something to get in a snit about.

She felt her cheeks heat at the thought of maybe one day, wearing those colors…

' _Shame Theo never played Quidditch, though. Wasn't that the thing to do, pilfer a boy's Quidditch robes and wear them?_ ' She blushed slightly at the thought of wearing something of Theo's. Of his reaction…

' _Merlin, but I've got it bad,_ ' she mused, dusting her hand across the weathered bench before sitting down beside where the other witch already sat. She saw Parkinson roll her eyes.

"There's a whole section here Granger. You don't have to cozy up."

"I realize I'm not the sort you would associate with, given the choice." Said Hermione, staring ahead at the two figures flitting around the pitch.

"Obviously," said Parkinson.

"I think," said Hermione, turning to face the other witch, "that if you got to know me though — actually know me — you'd revise your opinion. In fact…" she smirked. "Disregarding prejudices, I believe I'd fit in quite well amongst you lot."

Parkinson raised a perfectly shaped eyebrow incredulously.

"Little miss muggleborn, integrated amongst those of established society and in league with The Dark Lord? Just look at you." She slowly perused Hermione from head to toe, leaving her feeling slightly violated. "You'd never last a day amongst our lot, Granger, let alone an hour."

Turning back toward the pitch and all but dismissing Hermione, she bit out, "There is absolutely _nothing_ about you that could possibly interest me to seek your acquaintance."

Hermione sighed.

' _Bloody hell, and Ron thinks I'm stubborn!'_

She'd try once more, then give it up as a lost job if she still met the icy wall of resistance. She'd need to change tactics apparently, however; nice didn't appear to be the way to slice this particular ribbon.

"Aren't you tired of it all?" She asked, quietly. "The pretenses. The Masks. The constant dance of social approval. I know I am. I'm bone weary, if I'm honest. We are but the sum of our parts, and I for one am exhausted from trying to fit into so many predetermined molds and ideations of what I should or shouldn't be. I'd like, for once, to be taken at face value, not condemned at the outset due to circumstances beyond my control."

Parkinson made to speak as Hermione turned and looked at the witch beside her, but was cut off as Hermione continued. "If Malfoy and I, along with Ginny, can work at overcoming the shite that's between him and us in the past, I'd think… that with the current climate of change, you'd at least be open to fostering a potential ally, and would refrain from being a snarky, condescending cow!"

The two witches stared at each other, each taking the others measure, postures rigid with tension. Hermione could feel her eyes watering but intrinsically knew that if she broke eye contact first, she'd lose more than the staring match.

After what felt like eons, Parkinson pursed her lips before sighing, "Alright, Granger. Enlighten me as to what would make me consider you worthy of my company."

"I won't grovel for your favor, Parkinson. What I've done, what I'm capable of… I'm not only the do-gooder bookworm who can't keep from spouting off knowledge. I could wax on to you about unsanctioned potion brewing in the toilets during second year, or about my effective form of blackmailing an unregistered animangus, by keeping her in a jar for a year."

She wasn't sure, but she swore a hint of vulnerability and unease flickered across Parkinson's face as she spoke.

"Those seems like attributes of your house; ambition, ruthlessness and cunning. Or should I mention that in first year, in an attempt to save a life, I set Professor Snape's robes on fire…" Hermione grimaced slightly before adding, "publicly…without getting caught or punished."

"You didn't." Stated Parkinson, her surprise barely hidden behind her mask of disinterest. Her voice, however, betrayed her; it had dropped to be no more than a strangled whisper.

"Did." Said Hermione. "During a Quidditch match even. While he was seated in the professors box."

"Wha—?" Began Parkinson, her mask shattered, her mouth hung open and eyes were wide as saucers.

Hermione waved her hand, "Long story; ultimately it was right intent, wrong person."

"I…" The other witch faltered, her face blanching before she rose with abrupt fluidity.

"I forgot, I'm late for a previous engagement. Excuse me."

Before Hermione could even open her mouth to protest or call her back, Parkinson had pushed past her and was gone, descending into the depths of the stairwell leading from the stands to the ground below.

'Oi! Granger! Where'd Pansy run off too?"

She blinked and turned her head toward the pitch.

Malfoy was hovering in front of the stands, a few feet from her, close enough for her to see the concern and suspicion etched upon his face. Shifting her head slightly, she saw Ginny hovering behind him, her face more alive than Hermione had seen in months. Flying with Malfoy seemed to have chipped away bits of the grief-forged shell that had encased her friend since the battle of Hogwarts.

"I'm not sure." Hermione replied honestly. "One moment we were in conversation, the next she up and bolted. Said she was late for a previous engagement." She shrugged, feeling discomforted by the other witches abrupt departure. She'd let her tongue run away from her, and realized how hostile her overture had been.

"What was the last thing you said to her?" Malfoy asked, his eyes intense. All levity she'd witnessed between him and Ginny out on the pitch seemed to seep out of him with each panted breath. Now, instead of the flushed face youth enjoying an evening fly, he appeared a haggard and bone weary young man.

Hermione was shocked by the suddenness of his transformation.

"I mentioned setting Professor Snape's robes on fire first year during a Quidditch match." Hermione said.

"Fuck. This is all I need tonight, I need to find her." About to turn, he swing his head back. "Hold up, that was you?" Malfoy spat incredulously. "I remember overhearing Severus relaying that incident to my father. I didn't know it was you."

"Neither did he," she shrugged again. "It was rather a case of mistaken identity. You see, I'd thought he was behind Harry's cursed broom during the match, when in fact it was Professor Quirrel's doing. I was pleased to hear no harm was done to Professor Snape's leg, once I learned of my mistake."

Malfoy was pinching the bridge of his nose.

"You… I can't even begin… of all the…"

He seemed unable to formulate a coherent thought let alone sentence.

"Kneazle got your tongue?" Hermione said, enjoying his rare loss of composure.

"You're not what I thought at all, Granger." He finally said. His brow was furrowed and he was steadily, appraising her with his piercing slate eyes. "I don't know whether to warn Theo, or applaud his fortune."

"Well… I would assume a warning could be viewed as disrespectful," she said, "As his friend, it demonstrates a lack of trust in his intuition and decision making abilities." Hermione smiled, letting warmth saturate the gesture as she took note of Malfoy's surprised expression, "If I were you, Malfoy, I'd applaud."

"Duly noted, Granger. Now, I really need to go find Pansy." He nodded distractedly, "Evening Granger."

Turning, he flew back toward Ginny, the two exchanging words and, to Hermione's surprise, affable pats on the shoulders, before he sped off toward the castle.

Ginny headed for the stands, dismounting and throwing herself down onto the bench beside Hermione.

"Merlin, but he can fly!" She exclaimed. "I haven't flown like that in…" her eyes shuttered slightly, her voice dropping. "Well, in ages. It's nice to have some actual competition to push me, keep my skills in top form so I can attract the scouts."

Hermione smiled, happy to see Ginny in such high spirits.

"We should probably head back," she said, noting the darkening sky and dropping temperature. Ginny nodded.

"Reckon I should also shower before meeting Luna."

"Wasn't about to mention, but you are a bit ripe," quipped Hermione, earning a none to gentle nudge and a laugh.

The two made quick work of the stairs and soon were at the entrance to the castle.

"Have you and Nott figured out what your project's focus will be?" Asked Ginny as they made their way toward the Gryffindor tower.

"Not yet. We're meeting tomorrow night." Said Hermione, feeling her cheeks warm. "But… it's more a study date, rather than just meeting to study."

"Only you would make that distinction, Hermione." Ginny chuckled.

"Who're you partnered with?" Hermione asked.

Ginny looked uncomfortable for a moment before replying, "Terrance."

"He's really made an impression." Hermione said, mentally making note to prod Nott for information about this younger Slytherin.

"Luna is partnering with Millicent, his sister. She's in your year."

"Right." Hermione replied. Despite what Luna had said about the Slytherin Witch a few days before, Hermione had never found her anything but a bully.

They'd reached the bottom of the main staircase.

"Maybe I'll see if Theo's in the joint common room and available to discuss the project now?"

Ginny waved her fingers at her before blowing a kiss. "Go forth, and be merry. I'm off to wash this layer of sweat off before tackling the fundamentals of transfiguration between sentient and non-sentient beings with cellular elements." She made a face. Transfiguration wasn't Ginny's favorite subject by any measure, a fact she'd made known to Hermione during their years of friendship. "Hopefully I can copy from some of Luna's notes."

"Ginny! Honestly, you're as bad as your brother!" Hermione said, sighing in exasperation. Ginny winked and began sprinting up the stairs, while Hermione turned toward the corridor that would lead to the joint common room.

 **A/N: Thank you thank you to all who've reviewed or commented. I appreciate your words more than you can imagine. They truly make my day!**


	17. Chapter 17

**Legal: I own nothing, just play in J.K. Rowling's sandbox for fun.**

 **A/N: thank you for your continued patience and support, you are the most wonderful readers ever! Xo ~G**

 **Chapter 17**

Theo was restless.

He'd joined Blaise, Greg, Daphne and Tracy in the joint common room after supper. It was rare for them to seek out the company of the other houses, preferring the private sanctity of their own common room; however, the allure of time spent away from high energy first years and gossiping middle years was too potent a refuge to pass up.

Blaise and Tracy were engaged in a game of wizards chess, each equally as ruthless and skilled as the other. Greg was watching, sporadically offering advice that was met with civil but resounding rejection, and Daphne was reading her charms textbook.

Having already finished his homework, and uninterested in watching the tedious chess match, Theo found himself glancing around the common room, observing the current occupants.

A group of Ravenclaws and Hufflepuffs sat together, playing gobstones and exploding snap. No Gryffindors in sight.

' _I wonder where Granger's at?'_ He thought, drumming his fingers absently against his thigh as he clocked her absence.

"Where's Millie tonight?" Blaise moved a pawn, capturing one of Tracy's. The ensuring destruction was glorious.

"Off with Lovegood, I think." Said Daphne. "They're partnered on the term project."

"Draco and Pansy? Where'd they get off to?" Asked Tracy, lifting her head from the game. "I'd have thought they'd have joined us by now."

"Maybe they've picked up where they left off fifth year?" Greg said, a look of distaste gracing his features.

Theo knew Greg had held a torch for Pansy since third year — something no one else appeared to have picked up on — though had smothered his interest in deference to his friendship with Draco.

Blaise snorted, in the elegant way only Zabini could.

"I'd wager they're off together, yes. I would, however, wager that they're not, nor will they ever be, engaged in any romantic or intimately inclined entanglements."

"What makes you say that?" Asked Daphne, lowering her book to her lap. She'd narrowed her eyes and her lips were slightly pursed; she smelled blood.

Theo inwardly rolled his eyes, and caught Blaise's gaze, holding it steadily with his own.

' _Don't repeat what we heard…_ ' he thought, willing Blaise to hold his tongue. ' _It's not our place.'_

Theo needn't have worried. Blaise was the master of discretion — when it suited — and had a propensity to collect clandestine knowledge of other's inclinations and assignations. Those secrets were his currency, and he was a master at the trade, ensuring a comfortable existence for himself at the expense of leveraging others potential unveilings.

Friendship afforded those in his esteem slightly more protection from his inquisitive ruthlessness, but no one escaped his sharp eyes, ability to observe and silvered tongue.

All except Theo.

Blaise had cornered Theo throughout the years, testing him, trying to subtly find threads he could unravel, edges he could pick at, dark corners he could expose and exploit.

He'd found none, and that lack of leverage had forced Blaise to begrudgingly regard Theo as an equal of sorts. It was the cement that bonded their friendship — neither beholden to the other — and one never verbally acknowledged.

"Well well, speaking of the wizard himself." Blaise said, smoothly deflecting by reclining slightly in his seat after moving his rook.

Theo could see Blaise's gaze taking in Draco's swift approach, assessing his mood and likely running scenarios in his mind. He also appeared to have noticed Tracy's capture of his rook, judging by the slight thinning of his full lips.

"Have any of you seen Pansy?" Panted Draco, coming to an abrupt stop beside where Daphne and Theo sat, nestled in the comforts of their plush armchairs.

"No mate, thought she was with you?" Said Greg, his brow furrowing.

Theo took in Draco's windswept appearance, and the broom that was slung over his shoulder.

"Maybe she became bored watching you fly? It's happened before." Said Theo, shrugging.

Draco shook his head.

"No, she ran off because of something Granger said." He raised his hand at the incredulous looks thrown his, then Theo's, way. "Not like that. They were seated together in the stands — civilly — watching Weasley and I fly around. Granger apparently had mentioned something about setting Professor Snape's robes on fire in first year, with Pansy rushing off after that. I…" he looked pained. "I need to find her."

No one questioned why that was; they all knew.

They'd been there.

Instead, shock and incredulity flitted across their face at Draco's retelling of Granger's admission.

Theo made sure to school his features into a mask of bemusement rather than let on his actual fascination. He was reluctant to pull back the curtain and display his addiction to discovering all the pieces of the puzzle that made up one Hermione Granger.

"You were flying with Weasley?" Asked Blaise before anyone else could voice their thoughts. His focus had shifted completely onto Draco, his interest in the chess game apparently pushed aside.

"Did I stutter?" Sniped Draco, clearly at his wits end. Blaise merely raised an eyebrow, waiting.

Draco sighed, then bit out. "We ran into her and Granger on our way to the pitch." He was now almost vibrating with barley restrained impatience. "Weasley had her broom and I was already heading out to fly, so figured I'd challenged her to a scrimmage. Granger and Pansy made up our cheering section."

"Did she wipe the pitch with you?" Asked Blaise, and Theo decided to nip whatever tension was growing between Draco and Blaise in the bud.

"I'll come help look for Pansy." He said, unfolding himself from the chair with a practiced grace, shouldering his bag.

"I'll come too," said Daphne, closing her book. Greg was already standing, hands in his pockets.

"Right. See you two later then," Draco said, nodding towards Tracy and Blaise.

Spinning on his heel he walked swiftly toward the common room entrance, Theo, Daphne and Greg following closely behind.

"Right," directed Theo, upon exiting the room. "Let's split up."

Nodding to Draco, he said, "You and I will search the west part of the castle, starting with the common room—"

"I'd already checked—"

"You may have missed each other unknowingly." Said Theo.

"You two," he waved his hand indicating Greg and Daphne, "search the east side, making your way up the astronomy tower. She's not a fan of owls, so that eliminates the need of checking owlry."

"How will we know if the others have found her?" Asked Greg.

"That's why we've paired up," said Theo, restraining the desire to roll his eyes. "One stays with Pansy, one finds the other group."

Draco began heading toward the dungeons having apparently reached the limits of his patience.

His expensive shoes tapped out a crisp staccato beat against the stone floor. Theo exchanged worried glances with Greg and Daphne before turning and heading after his mate.

"Hold up, Draco." Theo called, relieved when Draco stalled his steps. Catching up, Theo said, "We'll find her. Granger didn't know…"

"I know," said Draco gruffly. "It's just…" He ran a hand down his face, lines of exhaustion and weariness surrounding his eyes.

"We're not even a week into term, and already so much has shifted. It's a bit hard to get the head round at times. I don't know how Pansy's dealing with everything… I mean, we've just begun speaking past the banalities that decorum dictates; finally moving past all the shite of the previous couple years, and finding the footings of our original friendship." Theo noticed the air of weary defeat that settled around Draco like a cloak as he continued. "You know, though, how she keeps everything bottled up until she explodes, and how even when at our best I still had to pry the knowledge out."

Theo appraised his friend, his face grim. "You haven't attempted legillimency have you?"

Draco looked at him, disgust and anger mottling his face at they walked toward the dungeons. "What the fuck type of question is that? No I didn't use legillimency on Pansy, you utter twat. I won't assault someone's mind, especially now that I'm not forced to, and _especially_ that of someone I care about and hold in high esteem. Fuck you for even asking Theodore."

Draco's eyes blazed in anger, and Theo could see the sincerity behind his rage.

"Alright then," said Theo calmly. "I'm sorry my question… missed the mark. It's just, you haven't been exactly upfront or honest in your dealings with any of us over the years…" He broke off as Draco wrenched on his arm, jerking him to a halt.

"Let me say this once and for all, _Theodore Uilleam Cyneric Nott_. Yes, I fell in with the wrong sort, though pretty fucking difficult to escape when your whole family is indoctrinated to the degree that mine was. Yes, I was responsible for an old man's death, and yes, I've hurt more people than I care to admit and that alone will haunt me forevermore." Draco moved closer to Theo's face, his voice dropping to a lethal steel as he spat, "all that is true, but you do _not_ get to stand there in judgement, or make assignations against my character and still consider yourself my mate. You aren't _better_ than me, just because you escaped from the shackles your father desired you wear. Bloody _hell_ Theo, I thought we cleared this up days ago. Why the continued persecution and interrogations?"

Theo looked hard at Draco. He was panting slightly out of anger and also… regret? Desperation?

' _It's like he's purposefully forgetting our childhood._ ' Theo thought bitterly, memories rising, clamoring to be released; be remembered. ' _The chess board was set to play out since we were in nappies; not just in the past few years here at Hogwarts, the demented sod._ '

He swiftly curtailed the advance of his thoughts and secured them and his bubbling resentment and anger behind the mental shields no-one knew even existed.

Theo sighed. He ran his hand through his hair.

"You're right, we did. I guess… There's a part of me still waiting for the Draco of yesteryear to return. I don't think I'm _better_ than you." At this, Draco looked haughtily down his pointed nose at him. "I'm realizing… I'm still having difficulties trusting you completely, mate. We have years of history, including the formative years before Hogwarts. Last year was a fucking nightmare to begin dismantling and we're attempting to tear down and rebuild anew but… it's as you said. We cleared the air mere _days_ ago, Draco, but the foundation below that is years forged. We now need time to re-establish those foundations and begin embracing this new world, securing our places in it and forging a stronger, healthier relationship than we had between us in years past."

The two wizards were breathing hard as they stared at each other. Theo could see the corner of Draco's eye twitch, a sign he was thinking. He hoped Draco took to heart everything he was saying.

He'd love to have an actual, proper friendship built on real comradely, not jealousy and pettiness.

Theo'd also have to work through his own shite carried over from their childhood.

"You weren't responsible for Dumbledore's death." A voice behind them said quietly.

The two Slytherins spun round, hands on their holstered wands. Theo's face relaxed as he registered Hermione's presence, but Draco looked haunted at her words.

"You don't know anything Granger." He spat defensively.

"Actually, Malfoy, I know more than you're aware of." She said calmly, an eyebrow raised at his tone.

Theo was entranced by the rosy glow of her cheeks and brightness of her eyes that the autumn air had bestowed upon her. Just looking at her invigorated him as well as any medicinal draught could.

"Hello, Theo," she said with a gentle smile.

"Good evening Hermione," Theo said, his voice escaping deeper than anticipated, admiration and lust making his tone husky.

He saw her shiver slightly before turning her attention back to Draco.

"If you'd like, we can go somewhere more comfortable than a corridor, and I can hopefully relieve you of some of the guilt you're carrying around about Dumbledore's death."

The kindness radiating from her and the softness of her face as she spoke to Draco had Theo wanting to wrap her up in his arms and never let her go.

She was…

Draco was shaking his head, his face conflicted and pained with torn loyalties.

"Normally, I'd be all for learning why someone's death, his especially, wasn't my fault." He said, almost vibrating again from his need to find Pansy. "But I need to find Pansy."

Her face immediately shifted to concern. "You haven't found her yet? What's going on?"

"I can't, it's not my place. I just need… I need to find her." Draco's typically polished demeanor was in tatters. His hair fell in shaggy strands around his temple from multiple meetings with his hand, and his eyes had a glazed look to them, reminiscent of one on the run.

Seconds passed as Hermione appraised Draco steadily, appearing to take his measure.

"Alright then," she said, nodding decisively, apparently coming to some sort of conclusion.

"I can find her sooner than you lot will, especially as you're currently running around the castle half cocked. Follow me."

Spinning round, she started for the stairs without waiting to see if they followed. Theo noticed the staircase she ascended was one that would take them to… Gryffindor tower?

"Granger, where the fuck are you _going_? She's not going to be in your bloody common room."

"Language Malfoy!" She admonished, pulling up short, and Theo suppressed a snigger at his friend's outraged expression at being chastised. "I _know_ that, but the means to find her _is_. If you're so opposed, keep looking on your own, but I sensed you want to find her quickly and… discreetly?"

She raised an eyebrow, surprisingly reminiscent of Narcissa Malfoy's signature look and Theo couldn't hold in his mirth at Draco's flinch.

"Draco, shut up and let her lead." Theo chuckled. Draco gave a curt nod of acceptance to Hermione while throwing Theo a two finger salute.

He saw Hermione roll her eyes as a smile tilted her lips as he and Draco fell into step beside her.

The three of them made fast work of the remainder of the staircases before arriving in front of a massive portrait with an extremely large woman filling most of the frame. Her body was stuffed into a rather unflattering dress, and empty wine bottles were haphazardly stacked on a stone wall behind her. Her lips appeared stained, giving direct evidence of the overindulgence.

"This is the Fat Lady." Hermione said, gesturing to the frame and the woman looked down at them suspiciously. "Stand over there if you please," Hermione said over her shoulder to the two Slytherins, indicating they remain a good eight feet away from the portrait.

She turned and whispered something to the robust woman.

The password.

"Quite right," said the Fat Lady, and swung open. Granger disappeared through the portrait hole and Theo made himself comfortable against the chilly stone wall of the corridor in wait.

"Granger had better come through." Said Draco, and Theo found himself studying his friend.

It was a true testament to how concerned Draco was for Pansy that he'd halted his search in favor for whatever Hermione had up her sleeve.

Draco of yesteryear would have just pushed passed Hermione with a rude comment or maybe just hexed her and stepped over her prone body to continue his frantic search.

Theo felt a slight thawing of the walls around his distrust, and clasped his hand upon Draco's shoulder.

"We'll find her, Draco, and Granger—"

"Granger will what?" Asked Hermione with a smirk as she tumbled out of the portrait hole.

"Granger will be right there beside us," Theo finished, his eyes steadfast upon her own.

"So… what I'm about to show you is a secret. Only a few know of its existence and it's origin is personal to Harry." She took a deep breath. Theo thought it was if she was preparing for battle.

"You need to swear a wizard oath you won't broadcast this knowledge to anyone. That what I show you is kept between us." She said, chin set but eyes displaying her hope of easy acquiescence.

"What the fuck Granger?" Said Draco, now clearly at the end of his limit of patience.

"It's not my secret to tell, Malfoy, it's Harry's. But I feel badly that something I said set Pansy off, and your level of concern for her has me feeling even more guilty. I want to help you find Pansy," Hermione said softly, "but I can't betray my best friend's trust without assurances of your discretion."

"I'm in." Theo said automatically, and pledged on his magic his discretion and silence. It was worth it to see the relief and appreciation written plainly on her face as he did.

"Draco?" He said, elbowing his mate, and was thankful that after a muttered curse Draco pledged the same.

"Always bloody Potter," Draco muttered as he finished his oath.

"Right, well… thank you. Now, let me present, the Marauders Map." She brought forward a piece of worn, blank, parchment.

"Are you completely mental?" Shouted Draco. "You—"

"I solemnly swear that I am up to no good." She said loudly, cutting Draco off and tapping the parchment. Suddenly, scribbles began to form on the previously blank parchment and as Theo leaned in, he saw the lines revealed what looked to be a map, spidering into existence across the inside of the time-worn folds.

Draco gasped and Theo could see little moving… ' _are those names?_ ' He thought, puzzled and incredibly intrigued.

"Thats… that's Hogwarts!" Said Draco, awe saturating his words. Hermione nodded, not taking her eyes off what was now clearly a map of the school. Her eyes seemed to be zooming over it.

"There'll be time to ask me questions later. Alone. First, let's find Parkinson. See here?" She pointed to the map where three dots stood. "This is us, you can see our names, and where we are in the castle. Let's find hers."


	18. Chapter 18

**Legal: I own nothing and only play in sandboxes for fun.**

 **A/N: to the guest who reviewed last chapter seeking answers, this chapter has some ;)**

 **Chapter 18**

"There," said Theo triumphantly, pointing at a dot labeled 'Parkinson' that was in…

"Myrtle's Bathroom!" Draco and Hermione said simultaneously.

Draco spun on his heel and began sprinting toward the staircase that would lead them to the first floor bathroom.

Theo waited as Hermione pointed her wand at the parchment—"mischief managed!"—hastily refolded it and shoved it in her pocket before they too sprinted for the stairs.

It felt like only moments, but was probably closer to ten minutes, before the three of them were outside the heavy wooden door.

Theo was pleased to find himself barely winded, despite not playing quidditch nor having to traverse those stairs daily. He glanced at Hermione, who was politely pretending to ignore the spots of color staining Draco's cheeks as he worked to calm his breathing.

Having found Pansy, a blanket of cautious energy seemed to descend upon the trio. Draco, having caught his breath, looked at Theo pointedly before neutrally appraising Hermione.

"Thanks Granger," Draco said, hand on the door handle, his body almost vibrating with what Theo knew to be nerves. "Appreciate your… expedited discretionary methods."

Hermione waved away his thanks. "I'm sorry for putting my foot in it! Honest, I had no idea my disclosure would affect her so strongly."

Theo was touched by the remorse emanating from her, and he couldn't help but surreptitiously move his hand so the back of his brushed against hers in silent support.

Theo could tell Draco didn't want to rush in to see Pansy with Hermione still there; didn't want to expose their friend's vulnerability further, but was mindful of appearing ungrateful.

Or worse, rude.

"Would you be able to use the map and go find Greg and Daphne for us Hermione?" Theo pitched his voice low and tilted his head toward her slightly. He was rewarded when she mirrored his stance, creating a subtly intimate atmosphere despite them currently standing outside a manky washroom that hid their distraught peer and that Draco stood sentry.

"Of course," she murmured, her eyes searching Theo's in the dim light of the torches lining the walls of the corridor. He could tell she understood his unvoiced request, that she give them some time to console Pansy without an audience.

She laid a hand on his left arm, over where he'd have been marked had her best mate not finished off that bloody megalomaniac, and squeezed it gently.

"I'll find them and let them know where you are." She went to turn away but paused before saying softly, "if you need anything, I'll be in my common room. I trust you able to find your way back to the portrait I took you to tonight?"

"Your trust is not misplaced," Theo said, removing her hand from his arm and bringing it up to his lips. He felt her shudder as he lightly pecked the back of her hand as he'd done earlier, his lips feeling the edges of tiny scars and skin that had weathered hardships.

A hand that held stories he desperately wanted to read.

As he let her hand drift down between them, he continued, "nor is your discretion and kindness shown tonight. Thank you, Hermione."

His eyes burned into hers with everything he wanted to say but knew wasn't the time.

Hermione nodded her understanding, a smile flirting with the corners of her lips.

"Good evening Theo, and good luck."

Pulling herself away from their intimate proximity, she called, "Goodnight Draco. I'll send the others to you shortly." She threw the words over her shoulder at normal volume before bounding away from them, back up the stairs; pulling the worn piece of parchment out of her pocket as she ran.

The two Slytherins watched as the last shadow of her presence left their vision before turning toward the wooden door separating them from their friend.

"She's…" Draco began, but shook his head.

"Remarkable." Finished Theo, pretending not to notice the raw curiosity in Draco's glance.

"She is that." Draco replied simply.

"Ready?" Theo asked, putting a bracing hand on his friend's shoulder.

"As ever one can be," said Draco, his mouth twisting into a grimace.

Draco pushed the door open gently, and Theo was thankful that for all the neglect he knew this bathroom received, the hinges stayed silent.

"Pansy? It's Draco and Theo. We know you're in here."

"May we join you?" Theo moved into the room after Draco and set a few wards at the door.

"Smart thinking," murmured Draco, knowing the wards Theo'd set would allow only eighth year Slytherins through and into the room with them. It would also act as a repellant to anyone else.

The two exchanged pained glances as they heard the muffled sounds of sniffles amidst the crunching of glass against tile.

"Just… leave…" sniffed Pansy. "I don't… didn't want you to be here… just leave me alone. Please."

The last word was so heartbreakingly whispered that Draco was moving before Theo'd even lifted a foot.

Rounding the corner of the wall that shielded the row of sinks from the doorway, Theo saw Draco on the floor, his arms wrapped around Pansy as he pulled her into his lap; bundling himself around her as if to shield her from the world.

Seeing Draco on the floor, uncaring of the dirt and debris littering the tiles and the grief that was etched on the blond's face as he held the sobbing witch in his arms wrenched at Theo. He fell automatically to his knees beside the pair, as well unmindful of the destruction around them.

Shattered slivers of mirrored glass littered the grimy tiled floor like tears glittering upon a muddied face.

Theo glanced up and took note that only one vanity mirror remained intact, the others having fallen victim to Pansy's outpouring of rage and grief.

"I'm so sorry Pans. I hate that I wasn't there. I'm so fucking sorry." Draco was murmuring into her hair, over and over as he rocked her.

"I'm sorry we couldn't, we didn't, stop her sooner," Theo felt the same impotent anger rise within him that he'd felt last year when the world had gone from _shit_ to _utter hell_. He wanted to comfort, but refrained from offering it through touch.

Pansy and Draco had a history, and touch between the two wasn't what others perceived it to be.

By him, however, even if it was a hand atop her head to offer a soothing pat, at worst it could be misconstrued and at best, unwelcome.

Especially in respect of the catalyst for Pansy's distress.

They stayed in their tableau on the floor, waiting for her sobs and body spasms to subside. Time passed with little marker save for the subtle passage of the moons spread on the floor from the leaded window.

"I just…" Pansy gave a sobbed hiccup, pulling back to regard them with bloodshot and red rimmed eyes. "When she said, I mean, she has NO idea… and knowing what he did… it was so risky! And it brings it all…"

A myriad of emotions traversed across Pansy's face before she said, in resignation, "some fucking fresh start this was." She wiped at her face angrily. "Not even a week back and Granger has me reduced to a bloody puddle on the floor of an unused toilet."

"To be fair, Pans, she was pretty cut up about upsetting you, especially as it was inadvertent." Draco said, surprising Theo with his statement. "She even helped us locate you."

At the look of horror that spread across her face at Draco's words, Theo cut in quickly, "Which she did discretely, and left us before we came in here to go get Greg and Daphne. She understands boundaries and when not to push for answers not her due."

He saw the straight line of Pansy's shoulders relax at this.

"Thank Merlin for some small favors," she said, closing her eyes and leaning back against Draco's chest.

Suddenly she pulled forward.

"Wait, did you say Greg and Daphne are on their way?"

"We're already here Pans, just didn't want to intrude until we thought you ready for more company." Daphne said, her voice smooth and as calming as she and Greg moved from behind the entrance wall and into the main toilet area.

"You don't need to use that tone with me Daph, I'm not fucking porcelain."

She pushed off of Draco and began fixing herself in the remaining mirror with a set jaw and steely gaze rimmed in blotchy crimson. As Theo watched on, Greg tentatively reached out and wrapped his arms around Pansy.

"You're not porcelain," Greg murmured, "but you're also not alone."

It was a testament to how shaken Pansy was that she allowed Greg's embrace. She typically wasn't one for demonstrative affection, unless it was tactically used in a manner to garner a reaction.

The air was heavy with words unsaid, all of them remembering.

"I hate that nothing came from Snape's intervention." Daphne growled, waving her wand and transfiguring five extracted bits of pocket lint into plain yet comfortable looking wooden chairs.

Four pairs of eyes stared at her.

"What? As appealing as the floor seems," she delicately shuddered, "I'd rather be comfortable and clean while we talk and not having to scourgify my clothing like you three."

She sat down on the chair closest to her, crossing her legs and hugging her arms around herself. "Right, now although I'm glad Snape wasn't punished for interfering and I know _eventually_ she got what was coming…"

"It would have been nice to have seen her taken down publicly," agreed Theo. "Or at least, had some hand in her demise."

"Rather than a swift end from an errant stone falling from a castle parapet." Said Draco in disgust.

"It wasn't errant." Blaise's deep baritone growled as he stepped into view, Tracy at his side.

"What is this, a fucking party? Bloody interfering Gryffindor." Muttered Pansy.

"How'd you know to find us here?"Asked Greg, apparently not understanding the 'bloody Gryffindor' reference. "We only knew because of Granger."

"And there's your answer." Said Blaise conjuring up two armchairs, slightly more comfortable looking than the ones Daphne had created. Lifting an eyebrow, he indicated one to Pansy, before lowering himself into the other with a sinewy smooth grace that Theo had always secretly envied.

Shaking her head, Pansy shot Blaise a grin of thanks before stepping out of Greg's embrace and dropping down with regal poise into the proffered armchair.

The rest followed suit, and moments later all the eighth year Slytherins, save for Millie, were seated on magically provided chairs in the decrepit, mangy washroom.

"We've never really talked about it," Tracy murmured, looking at her hands. Her knuckles were white with how tightly they were clenched together. "I mean, we've _talked_ , but nothing beyond surface platitudes and threaded sentences. I think it's time…"

She straightened and looked first to Pansy, then the rest of them. Theo was proud to see Tracy's steel spine emerge, as normally she was the soft spoken, placating one of the group. He knew if any of them could get Pansy to open up, it'd be, surprisingly, Tracy.

"What's there to talk about," Pansy's tone was of such extreme boredom that if Theo hadn't grown up along side her, he'd have though her legitimately unmoved by the topic at hand.

"Oh I don't know? How about how Alecto Carrow repeatedly cornered you after class? About how she'd whisper threats and taunts that she thought only you could hear?" Tracy's eyes shown with repressed anger, and she opened her mouth to say more but was cut off by Draco.

"Or how about the detentions she'd give you, and the sadistic punishments she'd dole out, knowing word would get back to daddy dearest?" The words were spat with acidic vehemence, coating everyone with their vitriolic potency.

Theo could feel the guilt and shame rolling off Draco in waves at having been away from the castle when Snape had stepped in.

"Backfired pretty spectacularly," Pansy snapped bitterly. "Didn't realize I was no longer the rosy apple of father's eye. That he didn't particularly care about her, _teachings_ , so long as I was still able to fetch a good match upon graduation."

A humorless, hollow laugh trickled out of Draco as he sat shaking his head. "Right, a good match. If your father'd had his way, there'd have been nothing good about it."

"How'd Snape know?" Greg asked.

"He didn't, not for the longest time. No one did." Pansy said with a softness to her voice only those in the room had ever heard from her lips. "Despite the headmaster supposedly knowing everything that transpires in the castle, Alecto seemed to time her… _lessons_ , for when he was indisposed with the Dark Lord. She bragged to me once, a few weeks before… well, before—" she stopped, swallowing back the sob that Theo could see attempting to rise up her throat before hardening her jaw. "She bragged about some new wards Dolohov had taught her, to circumvent those intrinsic to the castle and it's master. Wards for if she should ever find need to discipline a pupil in methods her esteemed Headmaster might find a tad…archaic."

All eyes were on Pansy as the bitterness spewed forth.

Tracy was right, none of this had been discussed the year prior, nor over the summer. Survival had been the name of the game, carry forward, keep your head down. Don't make waves. There'd be time to talk later, and all that nonsense.

Except they hadn't.

Not until now.

"We know some of the lead up…" Tracy ventured, but her tone, so similar to Daphne's cautious one, set Pansy off.

"You want to see what being a Pureblood heiress from one of the sacred twenty-eight means to someone with an axe to grind against their family's patriarch, Davis? What our esteemed Headmaster finally put a stop to?"

Pansy jerked to her feet, throwing off her robes to pool on the floor at her feet and ripped off her school tie.

"There's a reason none of you have seen me without my robes for any length of time since then, or without having adequate time to prepare myself."

She was angrily unbuttoning her white school blouse, one button at a time, her fingers attacking the round pebbles holding the cotton together as if they were eyeballs she wished to squish and gouge.

"My glamours are impressive and virtually undetectable, mother made sure of that, but even they—" the last button was undone, and she tore off her shirt.

"Even they can't stand up to what that witch did."

Rolling up her undershirt to rest just under her breasts, Pansy halted her movements and stood there, clad only in a white undershirt and in her school uniform from the waist down.

"Oh Pansy…" Daphne breathed, a sob catching in her throat while her eyes shown brightly with rage.

Greg vomited on the floor. Draco absently vanished it, his eyes glinting like molten steel as he stared at Pansy.

She ignored them, staring directly at Tracy.

No one else moved or made a sound, but Theo knew they all were as sickened by the sight as he was.

Anger pooled, deep in his belly, and if Alecto wasn't already dead… he knew she would be after this.

"Take a good hard look Davis. All of you! Feast for eyes on what father didn't even blink an eye at."

Pansy's stomach looked like a chess board, that someone had carved into molded plastic while drunk and then set on fire. Lines zigzagged and crossed, some thin, white and smooth; others the width of his thumb, red and slightly raised. There were puckered patches and shiny skin of regrow skin from burns. The mess of flesh didn't seem to end at her exposed stomach, but continued past the borders of her clothing, hidden from sight.

"The only reaction these," she waved at her torso, "received, was for him to spit at me ' _at least robes would hide the blemishes until the bonding ritual was complete,'_ and that ' _at least it's not something that will cost me my bride price'._ I was, am still, nothing but a brood mare and commodity to that man. Yet I will forever bear the markings of a demented woman apparently scorned by his ambivalence and crass disregard."

Tears shimmered in Daphne and Tracy's eyes as their friend exposed her deepest secret and vulnerability; appearing to teeter on their lower lids but surprisingly, thankfully, did not fall.

Theo didn't think Pansy would be currently able to tolerate tears.

"For months she'd funneled her frustrations into and onto me. A nick here. A mark there. 'Oh Parkinson, I have a new _Muggle_ product I'd like to test on you before the next class. Oops, my apologies, that wasn't meant for ingestion, silly me. Oops, I'm so sorry, that wasn't meant to be applied directly to skin.'"

She yanked her tank back down, covering her scars, and reached for her blouse.

"I didn't know then _why_ I'd been chosen as her personal plaything. Not until that night when anger loosened her tongue. Did you know he'd been quietly slumming around with her during my fifth year, upon the Dark Lord's return? There's nothing like a woman scorned. If it hadn't been for Snape…"

Blaise was sitting bent forward with his elbows on his knees and hands steepled, his chin resting on the points of his fingers as hatred and determination blazed from his eyes.

Greg looked simultaneously murderous and like he wanted to crawl into a corner and weep.

Draco… Draco was oddly calm despite the vibrations of manic violence emanating off him.

"You mentioned something about the errant castle stone not being errant?" Draco asked Blaise, eyes still on Pansy.

"I was in the right place, at the right time," bit out Blaise. "I wasn't sure, at that point in the battle, what way the wind would go. I couldn't afford to be seen opposing the Dark Lord's subjects, but also refused to let that… piece of filth live, not after what she'd done to Pansy. To…" Blaise broke off, and if Theo didn't know any better, he'd say Blaise blushing

' _Intriguing_ …' thought Theo. ' _Could this be about a certain member of the red and gold?'_

"She was my first, my only, kill." Blaise said flatly. "My only regret is that I hadn't done it sooner."

"Thank you," Pansy whispered, turning and hugging Blaise. "I… just… thank you."

"If not you, mate, I would have." Said Draco, "Azkaban or punishment by the Dark Lord be damned."

"Why didn't you say something? Why didn't you tell us?" Daphne asked.

Tracy nodded. "You could have told any of us. Despite everything, we guard each others backs."

"She'd has me sign something our first detention. I think it was similar to what I've heard Granger put on the parchment for their little practice group in fifth year; the one the permanently scarred that girl. Carrows curses weren't as benign, hers would have done more damage than a few measly pimples had uneven breathed a word. I physically wasn't able to."

"So how did Snape stop her exactly?" Asked Theo, his curiosity getting the best of him and reflected in other faces around the group.

All any of them knew before tonight was that Pansy had been the target of Alecto's demented focus, with only whispers and inklings as to the extent of her damage. They knew Snape had swooped in and put a stop to it, with the resulting aftermath of Alecto Carrow and Pansy residing in the infirmary for two nights and Pansy's unwavering loyalty.

"Snape was someone I've looked up to since I was a first year. Despite his snark and acidic demeanor, he actually seemed to give a shit about us snakes. Especially those in direct comparison to Perfect Potter and his tribe."

Theo held his tongue at the bitterness coating Pansy's words, for he knew she spoke the truth. Even if she hadn't been, now wasn't the time to sift through the jealousy of past house favoritism.

"Father was very vocal over the summer about how I was to support 'that Severus chap' in his new position of headmaster, and to keep my nose clean so as to be sparkling fresh for any potential suitors."

"Right, because that's what's important in war. Suitors. Not staying alive or learning how to navigate political waters to stay afloat." Theo was disgusted with the eldest living Parkinson. He'd met the man on various occasions throughout his life, but had never cared enough about the man to waste energy forming an opinion.

Now however, he decided Azkaban couldn't come soon enough for the tosser.

He hoped the place quickly dampened and snuffed out the man's wick.

"Most don't know of Snape's role in Dumbledore's death, outside of those Potter told and the followers of the Dark Lord." Murmured Draco. "The majority of houses, regardless if they supported the Dark Lord or not, would have stood with Severus, would have backed him as Headmaster over McGonagall. He was an enigmatic ghost of a man, who terrified past and present members of Hogwarts alumni with his ability. He was also a duel agent, so no one quite knew where his true loyalties lay. At least, not until the end. It doesn't surprise me your dad wanted to curry favor."

"I still don't understand—" Tracy began.

Pansy sighed before saying quickly, "Alecto got sloppy, and it was her undoing. It was the night father had apparently sent his final, biting rejection through a howler, and she was almost blind with catatonic rage. She didn't check thoroughly for occupied portraits in the room she'd dragged me to under the guise of a Muggle-style cleaning detention. One was thankfully occupied by a Vienna Monk who'd hidden himself away in a shadowed enclave. He ran to Snape's office to alert him of what was transpiring, demanding him to action."

"I can just picture it," said Daphne, "the man who gave us the 'monthly flow talk' being lectured by a portrait to make haste. I bet he made a surly sight indeed."

"He was terrifying. He was… he was amazing." Pansy whispered. "He barged in, and within the span of five minutes he'd not only used the Cruciatus curse twice on her to the point she voided her bowels, he'd also performed legillimancy and obliviated her of not only the entire night, but of the affair and all our previous detentions. Before she regained consciousness from his mind manipulations, he apologized. He was almost apocalyptic with rage that he couldn't do more, and that he'd missed what had transpired, what I'd endured. He promised me, never again."

She rubbed her belly through her shirt. "He gave me potions that helped heal some of the injuries made with cursed devices, but he wasn't able to heal most of her inflicted depravity."

"So when Granger said she'd set Snape on fire…" Draco began.

"I lost it." Pansy said, eyes downcast. "I can't tell you why that moment, what prompted such a reaction. Maybe it was the casualness, or the surprise… I'm not sure. All I know is that hearing Hermione bloody Granger talk about setting Snape's robes on fire during a quidditch game reminded me of _her._ I was angry, and also… damn it, it just... it brought it all back."

The seven of them sat quietly, each lost in their own minds, turning over what Pansy'd revealed.

"Let's go," Pansy said abruptly after the silence began to stretch, becoming slightly oppressing. "As comfortable as this chair is, and as thrilled as I am that you're now aware of my... _blemishes_... my arse is becoming numb and I'm knackered after all this public catharsis."

They all stood and vanished their respective chairs before making their way out the door and toward their common room and respective beds.

No words of thanks or reassurances were spoken. None were needed.

There were some things that time nor family prejudices nor wars could shatter, and those were bonds of loyalty; loyalty forged through the pain of being the bargaining chips of a generation of unworthy parents.


	19. Chapter 19

**A/N: thank you for your patience, real life is very demanding and my writing time has lessened, but I'm still working away. Never fear though, this story WILL NEVER be abandoned! I love it too much and really enjoy writing it and playing in this sandbox. Thank you for all your reviews, follows and faves... you are all truly wonderful and make my writer heart full!**

 **Legal: I own nothing but the plot, and am thankful I get to play in this world created by J.K. Rowling.**

 **Chapter 19**

Hermione dragged herself down to breakfast with Ginny and Neville, the two of whom were locked in a heated debate about a recent shakeup to a Quidditch team somewhere in Europe.

Apparently, whatever it was, had caused a major stir and outrage amongst fans throughout the Wizarding world, such was the far reaching impact of whatever trade or decision had occurred.

Hermione couldn't be arsed to care, nor pay more attention than what she'd already been subjected to by proxy.

As they flopped down upon the benches near the rear of the Gryffindor table, Hermione surreptitiously scoped out the Great Hall, tamping down her disappointment when she failed to see Theo or his mates.

' _Must have been a long night, guess they slept in.'_ She thought before tucking into her porridge and cream.

So engrossed was she in her meal and reading the daily prophet that had arrived shortly after she'd sat down—discovering Parkinson's father had been arrested the day before—that she jolted in surprise when she finally lifted her head and gazed across the hall.

She noticed him and his lot huddled together around the Slytherin table immediately, her eyes drawn first to him, then to Parkinson.

Their faces were placid, not a hint as to the news and provoking photo splashed across the front page, nor as to what had occurred the night prior.

If she hadn't been witness, hell, if she hadn't been the bloody catalyst, she would be none the wiser about the air of subtle seriousness that hovered over her fellow classmates.

To most, it appeared just business as usual at the Slytherin table.

Hermione watched in perplexed fascination as suddenly all the eyes of those facing her turned upon her, catching her in her own observations and pinning her with their directness.

She lowered her eyes a fraction too slow; witnessing varying expressions flit across her classmates faces.

Most confused her, but Theo's sent little shivers of warmth down her spine.

A flurry of words—whispered with minimal movement through taut lips—were volleyed around before Parkinson stood up abruptly.

As Hermione watched through her peripheral vision, Parkinson shook out her robe with a graceful snap of her wrist, and delicately dabbed at her mouth with her napkin, removing errant bits of crumpet and orange marmalade before tossing it back down onto her plate.

"Why's Parkinson staring at you like that?" Neville asked Hermione, as Parkinson wove her way toward them.

Neville displayed his cautious reservations of the Slytherin's approach through the manner in which he gripped his utensils, but thankfully his face showed no outward acridness or hostility.

Ginny, Hermione was pleased to see, looked almost… optimistically anticipatory.

Only Ginny was aware of the…incident, the night before, having been somewhat filled in by Hermione when she'd returned from Mertyl's bathroom.

"Mmmmm." She murmured, preferring not to disclose her assumption of why she was being sought out. "We'll soon find out," Hermione whispered, smiling at Neville softly, hoping to put his defenses at ease.

"Granger," Parkinson said, standing beside the Gryffindor bench with a poise Hermione envied.

"Parkinson, good morning." Hermione returned, arranging her features into nothing but polite pleasantry.

She wasn't sure which direction the interaction would traverse, so kept the warm, benign smile upon her lips as a placating measure.

She became dimly aware that all sound had extinguished itself in the great hall.

It appeared the room was poised with bated breathes to see what was to be said next.

The air was thickly wound with tension, so taut it felt physically charged and ready to snap.

When Parkinson held out her hand, a collective intake of breath echoed around the hall, and from the corner of her eye she saw Neville's hand obviously twitch toward his wand.

Both she and Ginny rolled their eyes at him, and Parkinson spit out, "down, Longbottom. I come bearing gifts."

In her perfectly manicured, outstretched hand, was a book.

A very ancient book, judging by the cover and aged edges of the parchment.

"I thought you may have need of this edition," Pansy said, proffering the tome to Hermione. "I'm aware you're seeking additional information for your… _project_ , some of which won't be found within these hallowed walls, ancient though they be."

She paused, then smirked, some of her previous pride shining through, "It's my own, _personal_ copy Granger."

"Hermione," she said automatically, her eyes lifting from the book to lock with Parkinson's, "please."

"If you insist." Parkinson breathed out, rolling her eyes in a facsimile of boredom.

She raised her hand to brush a stray silky strand of hair away from her brow, her movements methodical. Silence stretched before she said, "well, I'm not horribly plebeian. You may call me Pansy."

Her lips twitched and curled slightly at the proclamation, almost as if she was…proud.

' _Is she proud of…me?_ ' Hermione pondered, eyeing the other witch. ' _Why now, from what_?'

She reached her hand out toward what looked to be… oh Merlin, it couldn't be!

Hermione let her fingers trail atop the cover, her eyes soaking up the letters and words that made up the title of a book she'd have never been able to access previously.

It's existence was a tightly guarded secret in their world, one only Pureblood's seemed to be aware of.

One she'd only stumbled upon by eavesdropping on Madam Prince giving Umbridge a tongue lashing for even asking about it back in fifth year.

After a nearly exhaustive search and perusal of the stacks to find a thing referencing this edition, Hermione had given into defeat, believing what she'd heard the librarian say about no copies existing past the purge of 1735.

 _PURE: Putus Umquam Repugno Exitium.* An English translation of The ancient rights and traditions of the Inverkeithing_ _Coven and the Knights of Walpurgis, est. 1695._

Hermione couldn't believe Pansy Parkinson not only owned a copy, but was lending it to her.

Publicly at that.

She gapped at the witch in front of her, momentarily lost for words.

Ginny shook her head in disbelief, letting out a long, drawn out, piercing whistle.

"I didn't know any copies were left in existence..." She whispered reverently.

Her whistle and whisper were as indicative of the surprise gesture as they were to the rarity of the tome which was passing hands.

Nevilles's eyebrows rose as his eyes locked on the cover, his fringe all but hiding them as his eyes bulged comically.

"Thank you," Hermione's voice was soft but nevertheless carried over the stillness of the Great Hall. "This is… just, wow. I'm incredibly honored, Pansy."

Wrapping her fingers around the spine, she drew the book against her chest, the weight of its existence not apparent through its slightly diminutive physical size.

Pansy made no acknowledgment of her gratitude, as of the concept was beneath the gravitas of the moment.

Hermione's eyes flickered involuntarily toward where Pansy had ventured, locking with Theo's.

His smile—slight as it was—and the steadfastness of his gaze spoke volumes. Warmth spread from her cheeks down through her core at his visual embrace.

"All finished?" Pansy asked, nodding toward Hermione's plate; her typically clipped tones downplaying the vulnerability Hermione saw swimming in her eyes.

"Yes. Quite," Hermione replied pointedly, hoping the other witch would take her words to relate to more than just her breakfast.

She believed they were when Pansy's shoulders slackened slightly, as if a burden had been lifted. The tight lines around her eyes and lips softened somewhat to rest in a decidedly un-Pansylike neutrality.

Hermione downed the rest of her pumpkin juice, stood and hoisted her school bag upon her shoulder before turning to face her old… was enemy even the right term for what they'd been?

It was all so exhausting to think about at this point, and Hermione was done expending energy in that fashion.

She was acutely enjoying blurring the lines previously drawn in the sand of social discord and prejudice; relishing in the opportunity to begin to know the witch in front of her.

"Heading to Runes?" Hermione asked Pansy, angling her body toward the massive door leading from the room. She was rewarded when her classmate flashed the same flicker of expression as when she'd taken the book.

"Since we're going the same way…" Pansy trailed off and the two left the Great Hall amid whispers and nattering voices.

"We're going to be early," sighed Pansy. "I'm not a fan of early."

"Why's that?" Asked Hermione, who couldn't stand being late or even in time for anything.

Early was her norm.

Apparently she'd put her foot in it, judging by the look Pansy threw her. "For starters," the other witch began, "It's presumptive of both your own importance and of the person meeting you being free at your whims."

"Assumptions right up your alley," said Hermione without thinking, then felt her face flame as shame flooded her.

"I'm sor—"

"Oh please, it's called manners Gra— _Hermione_." Scoffed Pansy, then sighed as if the worlds burden lay upon her shoulders. "Right then. Theo mentioned you wanting to educate yourself on what it means to be Pureblood—not the physical genetics mind, but our culture, traditions and the inherent esteem surrounding the term."

She turned her head and speared Hermione with a look that stopped her mid step.

"Consider this your first foray into that knowledge. Manners, above all else, manners… or at least, the facsimile and perception of decorum. One of the first chapters in that covers not only the basics but all the tedious intricacies of manners in context."

Hermione held her tongue, not wanting to offend or damage the olive branch extended, but bursting with questions.

"Out with it Hermione, I can see you're almost boiling over with curiosity. Or something…" Pansy said as they continued up the steps to the North Tower.

"Right. Ok then." Hermione said, taking a deep breath before, "Ok, we'll. You say manners above all else yet you and your lot are abhorrent in your treatment of any you deem below you. Also, this book is ancient, does this mean the customs haven't changed since it's origin, making everything supremely antiquated in ideology. Or is this just the basis for what is embraced and carried forward today? And if deviations occur from this text to what is in vogue today, who makes those decisions to prune and nurture which customs? And is it only the sacred twenty-eight who have this control or is it the wizengamot or a combination?"

She paused, pleased and surprised she'd been allowed to voice all this without interruption. She lowered her voice, "and why did you give me such a priceless and rare artifact? Something that apparently is part of your family inheritance? Especially publicly?"

Hermione gazed at Pansy, sure her puzzlement about everything, but especially the last part, was tattooed clearly across her brow.

She felt her stomach plunge as she thought of something else. "Oh Merlin! Did Theo put you up this? Did he ask you to do this?"

"Oh Salazar, _no_ ," Pansy laughed and waved her hand, and the surprisingly genuine sound had Hermione's mouth twitching upward in response.

"He plays his cards close to his chest, that one. Wouldn't have dreamed asking something like this of anyone."

The witch purses her lips and said. "No, he'd mentioned offhand to Daphne and Draco about introducing you to our ways and I overheard. I wasn't thrilled at first…" she broke off and a slight blush stained her cheeks.

"I envisioned you stomping through our methodologies like a toddler in a field of dandelions, trampling on and obliterating them with nary a care as to the destruction left in your wake. All for the sake of justice or progress."

Hermione felt her ire rise at the assumption and made to interject, but Pansy continued.

"Last night showed me how wrong I was, how superficial and presumptive my own judgements were. Your discretion last night, your assistance when really, you could have told them to sod off, and your lack of hesitation to help despite our history… well… thank you. And…I wanted to return the favor in kind."

Hermione could only nod in surprise, tamping down her original ire before saying, "I'm sorry for upsetting you yesterday, truly. I don't know what about my comments triggered you so strongly but I felt horrid. I still do! I'm glad I was able to help them locate you, it was the least I could do. No one should wallow alone."

They'd reached the runes classroom, but by unspoken agreement didn't push on the door to enter the room.

They were still eight minutes early.

"I wasn't wallowing Granger," Pansy said.

"Hermione!" Hermione reminded her, and the other witch huffed.

"I wasn't wallowing, Hermione. I was…" her voice dropped to a strained whisper. "Reliving. Grieving."

Pansy's eyes seemed to glaze over, staring at a spot beside Hermione but appearing to watch something other than the hard stone behind her,.

Sometimes memories were as tangible as solid bone and stone.

Hermione reached out, tentatively, her hand silently moving out to rest upon Pansy's arm.

"For what it's worth, Professor Snape wasn't who the world thought he was, and is now a sorrier place without him."

"Quite." Pansy said, and Hermione could see untold sorrow behind her clear eyes.

"As to your other questions, well, isn't that what you'll be meeting Theo about?" Pansy smiled, not one of true warmth, but one lacking the thorns of yesteryear.

Even if yesterday.

The sound of bustling feet met their ears, and the moment of silent reconciliation was over.

"It's time," Pansy said, waving her wand before sheathing it and opening the heavy wooden door to the runes classroom.

"After you," she said, inclining her head and Hermione stepped through and into the room, taking her regular seat from years past in preparation for the class ahead as Pansy slid behind the desk she typically shared with Padma.

oOo-xXx-oOo

"Hey there," Hermione said softly, sliding into the seat beside Theo in the Defense against the Dark Arts classroom that afternoon.

It was the first chance she'd had to speak with him since the previous evening, and she was almost vibrating with the words that desperately wanted to escape her brain through her lips.

All during lunch she'd been peppered with questions from her friends, apart from Ginny, as to the sudden appearance and apparent assistance from Pansy Parkinson.

"Enough you lot," Ginny'd finally interjected, elbowing Seamus as he'd begun to ask yet another tediously repetitive question.

"Leave off, will you? I think it's a good thing that the ice is melting and new acquaintances are developing. We've all just been through a bloody war, and a little peace and frankly, less animosity, would be appreciated!"

She'd then narrowed her gaze on Neville who'd been sitting across from her, and Hermione had smirked at his reddening face. "And don't think for a second Neville, that I didn't see you chatting up Hannah after class this morning, so don't go throwing around that rubbish about keeping house loyalties and all that!"

He'd mumbled something that Hermione couldn't quite make out but had refrained from making any further comments.

"Afternoon," Theo replied, his grin causing Hermione's stomach to flip in the most wonderful way and an answering grin to spread across her face.

"How's your day been so far?" She asked, pulling out and arranging her textbook and quill set.

"Anticipatory," said Theo, then said quietly. "I find myself looking at my watch more than usual, wishing the day away so we'd be meeting sooner. Without all our classmates around."

"I'm looking forward to our study date too, Theo," Hermione said, and felt heat bloom across her cheeks as his eyes fixed upon her with a heat she'd never seen in them before.

There was a charge to the air as they sat staring, unmindful of the class filling up around them and the whispers of their classmates as they began to notice their unusual seating arrangement.

"Oi, Hermione," said Seamus, "are you forsaking us completely?"

He nodded to where she sat beside Theo, a bewilderment furrowing his brow.

"Oh shove off Finnegan," countered Draco, to Hermione's surprise as he slid into the seat on Theo's other side completing their table of three. "You're just sore she's sitting too far away for you to copy from."

' _Enough of this,'_ she thought. ' _Honestly, isn't he bloody tired of fighting?'_

"Why don't you branch out a bit Seamus," Hermione said, voice dripping honey but her eyes throwing sparks.

She knew what she had to do. Nothing compelled Seamus more than…

"I dare you." She stated bluntly, all eyes of their classmates turning to stare at Seamus. "I dare you to branch out, to sit with someone from another house and to actually have a decent, _polite_ , conversation."

As Seamus began looking smug, his eyes shifting toward Susan Bones, Hermione continued.

"And… it must be someone you've never had a conversation with, not even 'pass the salt.' Someone you'd have gone out of your way to not speak to."

Theo's lips appeared pursed in mirth as Seamus's face reddened and Draco was looking at Seamus like Christmas had come early.

"We take our dares very seriously down in the dungeons." Theo whispered to Hermione, his breath tickling her ear while her eyes remained locked on Seamus's. "I'm intrigued."

"What are the terms?" One of the Slytherins asked, and Hermione didn't have to turn her head to see that it was Davis asking, seated in the row behind them.

She had an easily recognizable, unique way of saying her vowels.

Hermione frowned.

Terms?

There's never really been… official terms.

You just did the dare or you didn't, but if you didn't you bore the shame of public failure and lack of courage, something a Gryffindor abhorred.

Especially Seamus.

"I say the terms are as such." Hermione said confidently, her brain scrambling to assemble an appropriate response.

"You fulfill the dare and… I'll edit your next essay, regardless of subject, and even make sure it properly fulfills the length requirement."

Seamus sucked in his breath, and she saw the other Gryffindors eyes widen in shock while those from other houses looked puzzled.

Hermione never offered to help anyone other than Ron or Harry with schoolwork outside of class prompts.

This was a mighty carrot… but not as enticing as writing the whole thing for him. He'd still have to do the work.

"And the punishment?" Asked Draco.

"If he fails to choose an appropriate seat companion, he forfeits the right to speak or even whisper for a full twenty four hours."

As talking came as naturally as breathing for Seamus, this was met with chuckles from Neville, a loud burst of laughter from Dean, and a steely glare from the boy himself.

"Seamus, do you accept these terms?" Davis said, and Hermione raised her eyebrow mockingly, further taunting him.

"I accept," ground out Seamus.

"So mote it be," said Davis, and a glow surrounded Seamus for a second before dissipating.

' _Wow_ ,' thought Hermione. ' _Stating terms makes it official apparently…_ '

"What'll it be mate?" Asked Dean, who'd sat beside Neville.

Seamus looked around—the class had filled since they'd begun the dare—and seemed to hesitate before setting his shoulders and marching toward the middle of the room where one of the few empty spots remained, plopping himself down beside…

Daphne Greengrass.

No one failed to notice the glow of yellow that engulfed Seamus, nor that his mouth sealed itself shut with a loud squelch.

' _Well that was unexpected_ ,' thought Hermione as Seamus's ears turned pink and his jaw set in defiance, his eyes darting around, their ferocity daring anyone to comment.

Greengrass shot Theo a pointed look, one Hermione couldn't distinguish.

Annoyance, exasperation, anger? Hermione couldn't tell.

Theo just grinned back at Greengrass and shrugged his shoulders, apparently amused at the situation.

"Well played, Hermione," Theo said. "I didn't know you lot were into dares."

"There's much you don't know about me Theo," Hermione cheeked, "but you'll be finding out soon."

"I can't wait," murmured Theo, turning his head as the door slammed shut and their new professor greeted the class.

Hermione gasped.

Theo swore.

Draco's quill shook in his hand.

 **A/N: who do you think the new professor is? :)**

 ***** _ **The book title roughly translates to mean: undiluted at any time, to fight against ruin**_


	20. Chapter 20

**A/N: Thank you to all who've reviewed, favorited or followed. It means so much. I love this story, and if you saw my writers notebook for this story, you'd laugh! There is so much to come and many lines to untangle and pairings to explore :) and though it's a slow burn in some respects, Theo and Hermione will definitely heat up the pages as the story progresses.** **Can't wait to hear your thoughts on this chapter!**

 **Legal: I own nothing you recognize. Make no money off this story.**

 **Chapter 20**

' _What is he doing here?_ ' Hermione thought as their new professor marched to the front of the class.

Her stomach rolled; adrenaline surged through her veins.

' _Harry and Ron are going to freak when I tell them tomorrow night…'_ She thought, a tinge of fear skittering down her spine.

' _There must be something I'm missing, to allow him here_.' She bit her lip.

"What the bloody fuck is Professor McGonagall playing at?" She heard Draco hiss.

It was pitched low enough that she was sure it was meant for only Theo to hear, but since her dalliance with polyjuice in second year, her hearing was permanently augmented.

Theo tensed beside her; she didn't even think twice before sliding her hand down below the desk, their pinkies resting against one another.

She didn't know if Theo knew of her brief past with the massive wizard, but knew there definitely was history between himself, his family and their new professor.

She wanted him to know she stood beside him, whatever form that took.

Because of Harry and his visions, she also knew parts of of Draco's experience with the terrifying hulk of a man stalking up the center aisle.

It was no wonder Draco looked petrified with terror.

She didn't like how still Theo'd become, how… almost dangerously poised.

Worry over the power this man would wield over them as their professor had her worrying her lip until the taste of copper flooded her mouth.

The slight caress of her finger against his appeared to send a jolt through Theo's body, one she felt more than witnessed.

She knew from her past observations the rigid control Theo had over himself and it didn't fail him now.

He shifted slightly, just enough so their shoulders were almost touching—she could feel the tensions radiating off him with every breath.

His positioning was protective but not in front, shielding her. He was…

Side by side.

Equal.

Their professor reached his teaching dias and spun with an elegance and grace that his towering frame belied, his eyes roaming the class before resting upon where her, Theo and Draco were sitting.

His eyes fixed on Draco, the intensity of his gaze appearing to skewer the Slytherin.

Hermione saw saw all remaining color drain from his already pale face, though he refused to drop his gaze in deference.

"Mr. Malfoy," their professor spoke. "I'd appreciate if you'd see me after class. We have… much to discuss."

Heads swiveled between the front and where Draco sat, ranges of boredom, puzzlement, fear and outrage sprinkled upon the faces of their classmates. Draco nodded once, not dropping his eyes from the wizard.

His tone conveyed nothing, no hint as to what Draco was facing after class.

Hermione felt Theo vibrate with barely suppressed emotions, though a quick flick of her gaze showed him still the epitome of bored elegance.

Then the professors gaze swung to her and Theo, his left eyebrow raising and his lips pursed in apparent thought.

Her close physical proximity to a Death Eater's child wasn't as subtle as she'd thought as his focus appeared to narrow in on where their fingers brushed below the wooden surface.

He stared for what felt like eons but was mere seconds, then gave a nod, his face losing some of its rigidity; a tension she hadn't realized existed etched into his features.

It was… as if he'd come to terms with something…

Hermione couldn't be sure if that was a good or a bad thing.

"Welcome," the hulking form spoke, his voice conjuring up visions of smoke and sin wrapped with a ribbon of mirth. "To NEWT level Defense against the Dark Arts."

His straw colored hair was pulled back—the length longer than she last remembered it being—and held fast with leather threading. This exposed tattoos, intricately inked behind his ears where his hair had been closely shorn.

She hadn't remembered seeing tattoos when she'd last saw him, and she'd been close enough to see the aged scar bisecting his right eyebrow.l and a spattering if freckles along his jaw.

Their last meeting had been brief, but he'd always made an impression.

He was fierce, battle worn, yet…

Hermione felt her body thrum with anticipation, with curiosity, with a fierce need to defy.

Hermione straightened her shoulders and felt her chin harden as she glared in trepidation and defiance at the wizard as he opened his mouth to speak.

"My name is Thorfinn Rowle. Your new professor."

oOo-xXx-oOo

"We'll be waiting," Theo murmured to Draco as they packed up after class.

His lips barely moved.

Draco nodded, a stiff bow that could have been mistaken for him naturally flicking his hair off his brow.

Hermione and Theo walked out of the room amidst the rest of their classmates.

"I'll just—" Hermione began to edge away but Theo cut her off, grabbing her hand and entwining their fingers as she'd done the night they'd walked along the lakes shoreline.

"Stay." He said. "Please."

Her eyes searched his before she nodded and stood silently beside him.

The rest of the Slytherins save for Pansy moved along the corridor, having exchanged pointed looks with the two remaining.

"After this I'm going to Professor McGonagall." Hermione said, her jaw set. "She's not Dumbledore. There must be a _legitimately_ good reason for…him to be our professor. Despite him appearing the best chance we've had for this class save for Professor Snape or Remus."

She shook her head. "Though of course he'd be knowledgeable in this subject. I'm just surprised he'd be interested in the 'defense' part of the dark arts."

She scoffed.

She felt both pairs of eyes on her, their intensity boring into her.

"How do you know our new professor?" Asked Theo, his face arranged into a careful mask, hiding his true thoughts below its surface.

She was surprised that she even recognized that it was, in fact, a mask, and not just a careful expression upon his face proper.

Either he was becoming sloppy in his personal defenses, or she was becoming even better at reading him, despite it only being a few days back.

' _Not sloppy_ ,' she thought, studying him closer. Almost… knowing! She felt her stomach drop. ' _How could he know? I obliviated them_?'

"I've run into him a time or two." She said vaguely.

"That's one way of putting it," Theo said, but didn't elaborate.

"You seem aware of him yourself Theo," she probed.

He rubbed his face with his free hand, the careful mask falling. He looked extremely tired, resigned.

He deflated slightly against the wall.

"I owe him a life debt. One forged in blood." He spoke the words so softly, Hermione almost missed them.

Pansy's head snapped around.

"WHAT?!" She whispered, the words heavy with despair. "Oh Theo!"

Pansy reached out and grasped his hand in apparent support.

Hermione knew life debts were rare, and knew blood magic was considered borderline dark magic, if not completely dark, but didn't know enough to truly understand why Pansy was looking at Theo like she'd already lost him.

Hermione had something new to research, another area of magic not taught in the standard curriculum.

Something that seemed ingrained in wizarding culture proper and not explained past generalities save for family derived education.

She frowned.

How Theo'd become indebted to the vicious wizard inside…. She shuddered to consider how he'd call in the payment.

"How did this—" Pansy was cut off by the door opening.

Draco exited the classroom silently, his face ashen save for red rimmed eyes and two spots of color upon his cheeks.

He seemed surprised to see them, despite knowing they'd be waiting, lost as he was in his thoughts.

Pansy waved her wand and Draco glowed orange all over before the glow zeroed in on his left arm.

"What's that spell," Hermione whispered to Theo. She'd never seen that wand movement or heard that incantation before.

"It identifies if magic was used on a person and where," Theo whispered back.

"Pansy, what the hell?" Draco went to hide his arm behind his back but Pansy was faster—she'd reached out and snagged his wrist before he'd even had a chance to react and had pushed up the sleeve of Draco's robe to reveal…

Nothing.

No Dark Mark; where all three of them knew it had been.

Not even a faint outline, or puckered scar tissue, showing forever what once was.

His arm was unblemished.

Pale, soft, smooth skin reflected the corridors candlelight back at their bewildered faves.

"What the fucking hell Draco." Theo breathed, his face a kaleidoscope of emotion.

Pansy appeared to waffle between joy and trepidation, if Hermione was reading her typically stoic face right.

Hermione felt… unsettled.

She didn't like unsettled.

"He's not what you think. What any of you think." Draco said, pulling his arm away from Pansy and shaking his sleeve down to cover his newly clean forearm.

"Now, I'm starved and supper awaits. I believe it's haggis and mash tonight, my favorite." He began walking, seeming not to care if any of them followed.

His posture was once again regal and his gait unburdened.

"I'll see Professor McGonagall after supper." Hermione promised Pansy and Theo. "I've no clue what just happened or why, but I'll get answers."

Pansy scoffed. "I know you just won a war and all that, but what makes you think ol' McGonagall will just invite your confidence like an equal?"

Hermione shrugged, "I don't. I'm not. But I _do_ know I'm a favorite of hers." She stood straight, her hand tightening on Theo's as her lips tightened in suppressed anger. "I've had enough of secrets and duplicity from one Headmaster. I refuse to allow another to play test subject with our education, possibly our very lives, again, without attempting to intervene."

She felt rather than saw their appraisals.

"What?" She demanded.

Pansy was staring at her with a shrewd intensity, as if able to divine her inner thoughts the harder she squinted.

Hermione glanced up at Theo, and her breath caught in her throat at the look he was giving her; as if he couldn't believe she was real…

"You're bloody incredible," he whispered, bending so the words were for her ears alone.

She felt her cheeks heat from his words along with the warm breath that caressed them as he spoke, and turned her face subtly towards his.

' _It would be so easy…_ ' she thought, their lips close enough that if she tipped her head just so… moved closer just a bit more…

She felt an arm slide through hers, her body propelled forward, away from Theo.

Their fingers disentangled as she was swept along the corridor toward the stairs leading down to the Great Hall.

"Best get you fed so as to not let grass grow under your intent," Pansy said briskly, her words in time with the cadence her shoes were tapping against the stone floor.

Hermione understood the double meaning behind the benign words. She nodded at Pansy in thanks.

She couldn't wait to begin delving into the book she'd been given earlier; after speaking with Professor McGonagall and her study date with Theo.

oOo-xXx-oOo

"Aonachd," Hermione said, her native English tongue stumbling a bit over the pronunciation of the Gaelic term for Unity.

Since taking over as Headmistress, Hermione had noticed a subtle lean towards the ancient Gaelic phrases and Celtic Runes, not solely Latin derived expressions.

She thought the change a breath of fresh air and made her cautiously optimistic that the new regime would be less tradition and secret bound than the last.

The stone gargoyles separated, providing entry to the rotating staircase.

Upon her foot meeting the bottom tread, the staircase began to rise. She quickly ensured her other foot was secure to the step and her robes and person were firmly past the edge of the opening, lest she be scraped against the stone surround.

She'd read all about this office and the entrance enchantments in 'A Hogwarts a History,' but had never been in the headmasters or headmistresses office before; never had reason to be.

Even the year she'd been petrified.

Dumbledore had merely visited her in the hospital wing, giving general platitudes to those revived.

She suspected, for those of muggle heritage like herself, a subtle use of magic was employed to soothe and dismiss any legitimate and understandable concerns parents and guardians had had.

None had visited the castle that year, to check on their children.

Something Hermione had never found odd until she reflected upon it years later, once Dumbledore had passed.

She'd thought in passing about how her parents had been so agreeable to her returning to the school she'd almost perished in… twice. It wasn't until she'd modified their memories that she'd found the letters from Dumbledore, and realized how manipulative the man had truly been.

She knew his portrait now hung in the headmistress's office, and wasn't looking forward to having to either feign politeness or voice her true beliefs to the immortalized wizard.

She knew from conversations with Harry that Dumbledore had had many devices and instruments that he'd broken during his outrage and grief over losing Sirius in fifth year and that the wizard had filled his office space with extensive magical clutter and extravagance.

She wasn't sure how Professor Snape had arranged his office while occupying the room, though she surmised either he'd have wallowed in the grief of killing his former mentor and boss and hadn't changed a thing, or had operated under extreme austerity.

Hermione was curious as to how Professor McGonagall would embrace her new domicile and office.

She arrived at the landing at the top of the stone staircase and knocked on the heavy wooden door baring her from the majestic room beyond.

"Please come in Miss Granger," the Scottish brogue drifted clearly through the door.

Hermione grasped the handle, swung the door gently into the room and stepped into the office, her eyes taking everything in as she closed the door behind her.

The room was spartan yet accented with tartan and multiple pieces of gleaming wooden furniture that married whimsy with stability and evoked feelings of permanence. Magical equipment was openly housed and displayed with apparent detail toward efficiency and austerity, ultimately keeping the visual clutter to a minimum.

The portraits of previous headmasters lined the upper portion of three walls.

Her eyes went first to behind the desk, as according to 'Hogwarts a History,' this was the designated position for the newly expired Headmaster's portrait.

A changing-of-the-guard if you were, where the predecessor had a clear view over their successors shoulders and could give council or critique.

Hermione registered a blank area of wall behind the desk, years of accumulated dirt and debris outlining where a frame used to be positioned.

Hermione chuckled to herself. Apparently, Professor McGonagall was just as put out with Dumbledore as she was, or had had enough of his peacocking and machinations.

Her eyes quickly sought out and immediately registered the portrait of Professor Dumbledore, positioned midway up the wall across from the Headmistress's desk.

Hermione saw his hand move as if to wave but she swiftly turned her back on him, ignoring all the old headmasters and instead focusing on the witch in front of her.

A witch dear to her heart.

Professor McGonagall rose from behind the desk and walked toward her, holding out her hands to grasp Hermione's.

"I wondered when you'd be here to see me." She said, squeezing Hermione's hands briefly before letting go and motioning to two very uncomfortable looking armchairs beside the majestic floo.

"These are very interesting pieces," Hermione said diplomatically as the two perched themselves upon the flat wooden seats.

"They were passed down through my father's family for generations and are one of the few items I was able to retain. These two pieces are circa the mid eighteen-hundreds, if I'm not mistaken. They're bobbin-turned armchairs, and my favorite quality of them is their ability to speed along conversations."

A rare smile graced the professor's lips and Hermione chuckled.

"They do seem as if they'd be dreadfully hard to sit upon at length." She agreed, then sobered.

"What can I do for you Miss Granger?" Professor McGonagall asked, regarding Hermione with a speculative look. "Is this about your term project, or something…else?"

"Professor, my last class of the day today was Defense against the Dark Arts and..." Hermione paused, a horrified thought crossing her mind.

' _I wonder if she even knows…_ ' she thought, knowing that most Death Eater identities weren't well known and Rowle wasn't the in the upper echelon of rank or infamy.

"I just realized… I'm sorry to be blunt Professor, but are you aware that our new Professor is a Death Eater? One I've personally encountered and dueled."

Professor McGonagall peered steadily at Hermione over the top of her glasses, her lips pursed and her eyes unblinking. The stare became uncomfortable in its length and directness, but Hermione refused to lower her gaze.

"Aye, though I wasn't aware of that particular aspect. Professor Rowle never mentioned you'd previously met. Now, Miss Granger." Professor McGonagall finally spoke. "I've been a professor here for over 37 years. Were you aware of that?"

"Yes Professor," Hermione replied, nodding.

"In those 37 years, I've taught many who unfortunately ended up joining the ranks of Tom Riddle. I have also taught those that flirted with but ultimately didn't succumb to his charm and influence."

Hermione remained silent.

"Do you not think I would be extremely thorough in my search for professors? That any background and current political inclinations and actions wouldn't be unearthed or previously known about?"

Hermione couldn't let that one go. "But our precious professors all were—"

A sound met their ears from the direction of Dumbledore's portrait and Professor McGonagall flicked her wand.

"Oh be quiet Albus!" She said, before, "I do realize, Miss Granger, that your professors in previous years—save for Remus and Severus—were neither up to snuff nor were they particularly interested in student safety—"

"That's an understatement! Rather, four tried to either kill, maim or sacrifice Harry, one was a werewolf that, though I personally liked and respected him, made the unforgivable mistake of not taking his wolfsbane _and_ not being properly secured during a full moon in a school full of students, and the last one, though ultimately on our side, made every students life miserable except for the Slytherins. Excuse me if I don't have the ability to blindly trust." Hermione spat out in frustration, then added, "Professor."

Professor McGonagall was glaring at her in a manner Hermione hadn't ever seen.

' _Sod it, we fought a war together. If I can't be honest with her after all that then...'_

Professor McGonagall sighed, and appeared to deflate slightly, all frostiness melting from her gaze.

"Miss Granger, I will excuse your tone and interruption, as I can't fault you your astute and correct articulations. Trust me when I say I had strong words with Albus about each one, _including_ those in the Order. However," she punctuated her pause with a raised eyebrow, "I can promise you, that all is above board with Professor Rowle. I am well aware of his status amongst the Death Eaters, but as you will discover, Severus wasn't the only spy or turncoat."

She chuckled as Hermione's eyes widened. "Oh yes, but I shan't spoil the plot as tis his tale to tell. It's a right good one though."

"Alright Professor," Hermione said slowly, her anxiety and distrust tempered slightly but not extinguished. "I'll keep an open mind and seek answers from the source."

"I'm sure that'll be an interesting conversation, considering how I assume your previous encounter must have gone."

Hermione twisted her hands, another concern floating from her brain to her tongue. "Professor, since I'm already here, I've also noticed something off about Professor Blishen—"

Professor McGonagall's face tightened before she cut Hermione off, saying evenly, "My apologies, Miss Granger, but that's an appointment I'm not at liberty to discuss with you. I advise you to comport yourself around her with the utmost respect," she paused, "and discretion. She is a master of transfiguration, and as such, it is a boon to Hogwarts that she decided to teach here. Especially seeing as this was the site of the pinnacle battle of a war the dust had not yet settled from."

Professor McGonagall rose, shook out her robes and swept toward her desk.

Hermione also stood, her nerves taught.

She desperately wanted to speak with Ginny.

And Theo.

Merlin, even Pansy and Draco would be a welcome perspective on things.

She missed Harry and Ron.

"I thank you for bringing your concerns directly to me, Miss Granger, as well as your candor. It truly is a pleasure having you return, and my wish for you this year is for one of normalcy and dare I say it, fun. Godric knows you're due for it!"

She turned to the side board and fiddled with a silver chest. When she faced Hermione once more, she held out a napkin with a biscuit settled between the folds.

"Take a biscuit."

Hermione was too stunned by the offering not to comply.

As she reached for the square, buttery shortbread proffered, Professor McGonagall said, her tone one of conciliatory caution, "Professor Rowle is a valuable resource, Hermione, and I urge you to seek his council should you have any more… concerns. My office is also available to you, should you find yourself in need."

With those cryptic statements veiled in subtext, along with Professor McGonagall using her given name, Hermione bid Professor McGonagall good evening and departed for the combined common room.

Her mind was whirring.

"What _are_ you doing?" She said with a laugh, coming upon Theo lounging against the wall in the corridor as she descended the spiral stairs.

Theo was making miniature crups—folded from paper, she saw as she came closer—dance and flit around the floor in front of him by the flick of his wand.

"I became bored waiting," Theo shrugged and offered her a small grin.

Her stomach flipped.

' _Oh what that grin does to me_ ,' she thought, fixating momentarily on Theo's lips, all thought of what was discussed in the Headmistress's office receding.

"So what's the news Hermione?" Theo gently slipped Hermione's book sac from her shoulder and slung it onto his own before reaching down and lacing his fingers with hers.

"Alright?" He asked, nodding toward where their hands were joined.

She beamed. "Never better."

"The others are waiting in the common room—Draco and Pansy filled Ginny, Luna and Neville in on the situation. Apparently, they'd also had a run in with Thor… I mean, Professor Rowle and are just as apprehensive and confused. I assumed you were going to head there after your meeting and wanted to walk you there." His skin took on a rosy hue at this admission and Hermione felt herself fall a bit more.

"I'm glad you did," she said, squeezing his hand as they walked toward where their groups of friends waited.


End file.
